Lives  ?f  the  Hunted 

Ernest  Thompson  5eton 


:-:::•:  : °  -c;  -  -•  •-: 


UBRARY 
a»r»l  01 

IftVINE 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

IRVINE 

GUT  OF 

Baldwin  N.  Baldwin 


LIVES  OF  THE 

HUNTED, 

Containing  a  True  Account  of  the.  DOINGS 
of  Five  QUADRUPEDS  trTftree  Bii\as, 

and,  in  Elucidation  of  the  Same, 
over  ZOO  DRAWINGS  /// 

By  ERNEST  THOMPSON  .SETON, 

AUTHOR  of  Wild  Animals  I  baveKnown^^  of  lteJan$i//J}ag<  BIOGRAPHY 
of  a  Grizzly*  etcetera  C^NATU^ALI-S'T  totfe  GOVERNMENT 

of  MANITOBA. 


NEW  YORK. 


Published  by  CHAIVLE.S 

MDCCCCXIII. 


SONS. 


Copyright,  1901  by 
6rncst  Seton-Cbompson 


first 

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eighth 

February 
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luly 

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Co  the 

preservation  of  Our  Cdild  Creatures 
I  dedicate  tbfe  Booh 

e.  a 


A  List  of  the  Stories  in  this  Book 
And  their  Full-page  Drawings 


PAGE 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 15 

The  World-wide  Game  of  King  of  the 

Castle 25 

Dividing  his  Birthright 46 

His  Mother  .  .  .  was  so  Cold  and  Still  .  56 

Krag  Wheeled  and  Faced  the  Foe  .     .  79 

Krag 105 

H  Street  Croubadour :  Being  the  Hdvetitures 

of  a  Cock  Sparrow 107 

Randy  Drew  the  Line  at  Feather  Beds  119 

Drove  Off  the  Bully 129 

Biddy  and  Randy     .     .     .     .     .     .     .137 

5 


A  List  of  the  Stories  in  this  Book 

PACK 

3ohnnyBear 139 

His  Whole  Appearance  Suggested  Dys- 
pepsia        143 

Old  Grumpy  Stalked  Down  the  Slope, 

and  Johnny  Hitched  Alongside  .  .153 
But  Johnny  Wanted  to  See  .  .  .  155 
A  Sirup-tin  Kept  Him  Happy  for  a 

Long  Time 159 

Johnny  Got  Behind  his  Mother  .     .     .164 

Then  They  Clinched 168 

"Stop!"  Shrieked  the  Cat 181 

Then  Pussy  Launched  her  Ultimatum  185 

Che  Bother  Ceal  and  the  Overland  Route     .   1 93 

Three  Times  Did  She  Drench  Him      .  207 

Chink:  Che  Development  of  a  pup    .     .     .211 

Trembling  with  Fear  and  Weakness,  He 
was  Making  his  Last  Stand       .     .     .225 

Che  Kangaroo  Rat 231 

They  Came  Nightly  to  Dance  in  the 

Moonlight     .  237 

A  Ferocious-looking  Reptile  ....  245 


A  List  of  the  Stories  in  this  Book 

PAGE 

Shooting  Across  the  Open  Like  an  Arrow  257 
Tempting  the  Rash  Coyote     .     .     .     .261 

Cito  :  Che  Story  of  the  Coyote  that  JUamed 

263 


Coyotito,  the  Captive    ......  271 

They      Considered     Themselves      Ac- 
quainted ..........  293 

Their  Evening  Song      ......  301 

Fair  Game  ..........  3°5 

The  Alderman  and  the  Apple      .     .'    .  315 
Tito  and  her  Brood  .......  321 

Tito's  Race  for  Life      ......  345 

«lby  the  Chickadee  Goes  Crazy  Once  a  Y»r  353 

The  Thought  (Tail-piece)  .....  361 


Note  to  the  Reader 

IN  offering  this  volume  of  Animal  Stories,  I 
might  properly  repeat  much  of  the  Introduction 
to  "  Wild  Animals  I  have  Known." 

In  my  previous  books  I  have  tried  to  empha- 
size our  kinship  with  the  animals  by  showing 
that  in  them  we  can  find  the  virtues  most 
admired  in  Man.  Lobo  stands  for  Dignity 
and  Love-constancy ;  Silverspot,  for  Sagacity ; 
Redruff,  for  Obedience ;  Bingo,  for  Fidelity ; 
Vixen  and  Molly  Cottontail,  for  Mother-love ; 
Wahb,  for  Physical  Force;  and  the  Pacing 
Mustang,  for  the  Love  of  Liberty.  In  this  vol- 
ume, Majesty,  Grace,  the  Power  of  Wisdom, 
the  sweet  Uses  of  Adversity,  and  the  two-edged 
Sorrows  of  Rebellion  are  similarly  set  forth. 

The  material  of  the  accounts  is  true.  The 
chief  liberty  taken,  is  in  ascribing  to  one  animal 
the  adventures  of  several. 

Of  course  we  know  nothing  of  the  lamb-days 
of  Krag.  I  have  constructed  them  out  of  frag- 
9 


Note  to  the  Reader 

ments  from  the  lives  of  many  mountain-lambs. 
But  the  latter  parts,  the  long  hunt  and  the  death 
of  Scotty  MacDougall,  are  purely  historical. 
The  picture  of  the  horns  is  photographically 
correct.  They  now  hang,  I  believe,  in  the 
home  of  an  English  nobleman. 

"Tito  "  is  very  composite.  The  greyhound  in- 
cident in  which  Tito  lost  her  tail  was  related  to 
me  by  Major  John  H.  Calef,  U.  S.  A.  The 
other  circumstances  are  chiefly  from  my  own 
observation. 

"  Johnny  "  is  almost  without  deviation  from 
the  facts. 

The  "  Kangaroo  Rat "  is  compounded  of 
two,  and  the  "  Troubadour  "  of  several,  indi- 
viduals. 

"  Chink  "  is  entirely  true. 

The  ''  Chickadee  "  is,  of  course,  true  only  in 
its  underlying  facts.  This  is  one  of  a  series  of 
stories  written  in  the  period  from  1881  to  1893, 
and  published  in  various  magazines.  It  is  in- 
serted as  an  example  of  my  early  work,  when  I 
used  the  archaic  method,  making  the  animals 
talk.  "  Molly  Cottontail "  was  one  of  this  series. 
It  was  written  in  1888,  and  in  part  published  in 
10 


Note  to  the  ReacJer 

"St.  Nicholas,"  October,  1890.  Since  then  I 
have  adhered  to  the  more  scientific  method,  of 
which  "  Lobo "  is  my  earliest  important  ex- 
ample. This  was  written  in  February,  1894, 
for  "  Scribner's  Magazine,"  and  published 
November,  1894. 

For  the  wild  animal  there  is  no  such  thing  as 
a  gentle  decline  in  peaceful  old  age.  Its  life  is 
spent  at  the  front,  in  line  of  battle,  and  as  soon 
as  its  powers  begin  to  wane  in  the  least,  its 
enemies  become  too  strong  for  it ;  it  falls. 

There  is  only  one  way  to  make  an  animal's 
history  un-tragic,  and  that  is  to  stop  before  the 
last  chapter.  This  I  have  done  in  "  Tito,"  the 
"  Teal,"  and  the  "  Kangaroo  Rat." 

The  public  has  not  fully  understood  the  part 
that  Grace  Gallatin  Thompson  Seton  does  in 
my  work.  The  stories  are  written  by  myself, 
and  all  the  pictures,  including  the  marginals,  are 
my  own  handiwork ;  but  in  choice  of  subject  to 
illustrate,  in  ideas  of  its  treatment,  in  the  techni- 
cal book-making,  and  the  preliminary  designs  for 
cover  and  title-page,  and  in  the  literary  revision 
of  the  text,  her  assistance  has  been  essential. 

In  giving  special  credit  for  the  book-making, 

XI 


Note  to  the  Reader 

I  am  standing  for  a  principle.  Give  a  person 
credit  for  his  work,  and  he  will  put  his  heart  in 
it.  Every  book  lovingly  made  should  bear  the 
maker's  name ;  then  we  should  have  more  books 
of  the  kind  that  the  old  masters  left  behind. 

I  have  been  bitterly  denounced,  first,  for  kill- 
ing Lobo ;  second,  and  chiefly,  for  telling  of  it, 
to  the  distress  of  many  tender  hearts. 

To  this  I  reply:  In  what  frame  of  mind  are 
my  hearers  left  with  regard  to  the  animal?  Are 
their  sympathies  quickened  toward  the  man  who 
killed  him,  or  toward  the  noble  creature  who, 
superior  to  every  trial,  died  as  he  had  lived, 
dignified,  fearless,  and  steadfast? 

In  answer  to  a  question  many  times  put,  I 
may  say  that  I  do  not  champion  any  theory  of 
diet.  I  do  not  intend  primarily  to  denounce 
certain  field  sports,  or  even  cruelty  to  animals. 
My  chief  motive,  my  most  earnest  underlying 
wish,  has  been  to  stop  the  extermination  of 
harmless  wild  animals ;  not  for  their  sakes,  but 
for  ours,  firmly  believing  that  each  of  our  native 
wild  creatures  is  in  itself  a  precious  heritage 
that  we  have  no  right  to  destroy  or  put  beyond 
the  reach  of  our  children. 

12 


Note  to  the  Reader 

I  have  tried  to  stop  the  stupid  and  brutal 
work  of  destruction  by  an  appeal— not  to 
reason :  that  has  failed  hitherto — but  to  sym- 
pathy, and  especially  the  sympathies  of  the 
coming  generation. 

Men  spend  millions  of  dollars  each  year  on 
pictures.  Why  not?  It  is  money  well  spent; 
good  pictures  give  lasting  and  elevating  plea- 
sure to  all  who  see  them.  At  the  same  time 
men  spend  much  labor  and  ingenuity  in  destroy- 
ing harmless  wild  animals.  No  good,  but  great 
mischief,  comes  of  this  extermination.  The 
main  reason  for  preserving  good  pictures  ap- 
plies to  the  preservation  of  most  animals.  There 
will  always  be  wild  land  not  required  for  settle- 
ment; and  how  can  we  better  use  it  than  by 
making  it  a  sanctuary  for  living  Wild  Things 
that  afford  pure  pleasure  to  all  who  see  them? 

E.  S. 


«3 


f 

Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 


&s&\  J&i  rf\  rf\r!r\ 


' 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 


GREAT  broad  web  of 
satin,  shining  white,  and, 
strewn  across,  long  clumps 
and  trailing  wreaths  of  li- 
lac, almost  white,  wistaria 
bloom, — pendent,  shining, 
and  so  delicately  wrought 
in  palest  silk  that  still  the  web  was  white ;  and 
in  and  out  and  trailed  across,  now  lost,  now 
plain,  two  slender,  twining,  intertwining  chains 
of  golden  thread. 


I  SEE  a  broken  upland  in  the  far  Northwest. 
Its  gray  and  purple  rocks  are  interpatched  with 
colors  rich  and  warm,  the  new-born  colors  of 
the  upland  spring,  the  greatest  springtime  in 
the  world;  for  where  there  is  no  winter  there 
can  be  no  spring.  The  gloom  is  measure  of 


Kragv  the  Kootcnay  Ram 

the  light.  So,  in  this  land  of  long,  long  winter 
night,  where  Nature  stints  her  joys  for  six  hard 
months,  then  owns  her  debt  and  pays  it  all  at 
once,  the  spring  is  glorious  compensation  for 
the  past.  Six  months'  arrears  of  joy  are  paid 
in  one  vast  lavish  outpour.  And  latest  May 
is  made  the  date  of  payment.  Then  spring, 
great,  gorgeous,  sixfold  spring,  holds  carnival 
on  every  ridge. 

Even  the  sullen  Gunder  Peak,  that  pierces 
the  north  end  of  the  ridge,  unsombres  just  a 
whit.  The  upland  beams  with  all  the  flowers 
it  might  have  grown  in  six  lost  months ;  yet  we  see 
only  one.  Here  by  our  feet,  and  farther  on, 
and  right  and  left  and  onward  far  away,  in 
great,  broad  acre  beds,  the  purple  lupine  bloom- 
ing. Irregular,  broken,  straggling  patches  near, 
but  broader,  denser,  farther  on ;  till  on  the  dis- 
tant slopes  they  lie,  long,  devious  belts,  like 
purple  clouds  at  rest. 

But  late  May  though  it  be,  the  wind  is  cold ; 
the  pools  tell  yet  of  frost  at  night.  The  White 
Wind  blows.  Broad  clouds  come  up,  and  down 
comes  driving  *now,  over  the  peaks,  over  the 
upland,  and  over  the  upland  flowers.  Hoary, 
18 


Kragf,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

gray,  and  white  the  landscape  grows  in  turn ; 

and  one  by  one  the  flowers  are  painted  out. 

But  the  lupines,  on  their  taller,  stiffer  stems,  can  •'# 

fight  the  snow  for  long :  they  bow  their  whitened  u  \tf    >v'» 

heads  beneath  its  load;   then,  thanks  no  little  ^(^^-^ 

to  the  wind  itself,   shake   free  and  stand  up 

defiantly  straight,   as   fits  their   royal   purple. 

And  when  the  snowfall  ends  as  suddenly  as  it 

began,  the  clouds  roll  by,  and  the  blue  sky  sees      -» 

an    upland    shining   white,    but   streaked   and        >  y^ 

patched  with  blots  and  belts  of  lovely  purple 

bloom. 

And  wound  across,  and  in  and  out,  are  two 
long  trails  of  track. 

II 

LATE  snow  is  good  trailing,  and  Scotty  Mac- 
Dougall  took  down  his  rifle  and  climbed  the 
open  hills  behind  his  shanty  on  Tobacco  Creek, 
toward  the  well-known  Mountain  Sheep  range. 
The  broad  white  upland,  with  its  lupine  bands 
and  patches,  had  no  claim  on  Scotty's  notice, 
nor  was  his  interest  aroused  until  he  came  on 
the  double  trail  in  the  new  snow.  At  a  glance 
he  read  it— two  full-grown  female  Mountain 
19 


Kragf,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

Sheep  wandering  here  and  there  across  the 
country,  with  their  noses  to  the  wind.  Scotty 
followed  the  prints  for  a  short  time,  and  learned 
that  the  Sheep  were  uneasy,  but  not  alarmed, 
and  less  than  an  hour  ahead.  They  had  wan- 
dered from  one  sheltered  place  to  another; 
once  or  twice  had  lain  down  for  a  minute, 
only  to  rise  and  move  on,  apparently  not  hun- 
gry, as  the  abundant  food  was  untouched. 

Scotty  pushed  forward  cautiously,  scanning 
the  distance,  and  keeping  watch  on  the  trail 
without  following  it,  when,  all  at  once,  he 
swung  around  a  rocky  point  into  view  of  a  little 
lupine-crowded  hollow,  and  from  the  middle  of 
it  leaped  the  two  Sheep. 

Up  went  his  rifle,  and  in  a  moment  one  or 
both  would  have  fallen,  had  not  Scotty's  eye, 
before  he  pulled,  rested  on  two  tiny  new-born 
Lambs,  that  got  up  on  their  long,  wabbly  legs, 
in  doubt,  for  a  moment,  whether  to  go  to  the 
newcomer  or  to  follow  their  mothers. 

The  old  Sheep  bleated  a  shrill  alarm  to  their 

young,  and  circled  back.     The  Lambs' moment 

of  indecision  was  over ;  they  felt  that  their  duty 

lay  with  the  creatures  that  looked  and  smelled 

20 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

like  themselves,  and  coolly  turned  their  uncertain 
steps  to  follow  their  mothers. 

Of  course  Scotty  could  have  shot  any  or  all 
of  the  Sheep,  as  he  was  within  twenty  yards  of 
the  farthest ;  but  there  is  in  man  an  unreasoning 
impulse,  a  wild  hankering  to  "catch  alive"  ;  and 
without  thinking  of  what  he  could  do  with  them 
afterward,  Scotty,  seeing  them  so  easily  in  his 
power,  leaned  his  gun  in  a  safe  place  and  ran 
after  the  Lambs.  But  the  distressed  mothers 
had  by  now  communicated  a  good  deal  of  their 
alarm  to  their  young ;  the  little  things  were  no 
longer  in  doubt  that  they  should  avoid  the 
stranger ;  and  when  he  rushed  forward,  his  onset 
added  the  necessary  final  touch,  and  for  the  first 
time  in  their  brief  lives  they  knew  danger,  and 
instinctively  sought  to  escape  it.  They  were 
not  yet  an  hour  old,  but  Nature  had  equipped 
them  with  a  set  of  valuable  instincts.  And 
though  the  Lambs  were  slow  of  foot  com- 
pared with  the  man,  they  showed  at  once  a 
singular  aptitude  at  dodging,  and  Scotty  failed 
to  secure  them — as  he  had  expected. 

Meanwhile  the  mothers  circled  about,  bleat- 
ing piteously  and  urging  the  little  ones  to  escape. 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 


Scotty,  plunging  around  in  his  attempt,  alarmed 
them  more  and  more,  and  they  put  forth  all  the 
strength  of  their  feeble  limbs  in  the  effort  to 
go  to  their  mothers.  The  man  slipping  and 
scrambling  after  them  was  unable  to  catch 
either,  although  more  than  once  he  touched 
one  with  his  hand.  But  very  soon  this  serious 
game  of  tag  was  adroitly  steered  by  the  timid 
mothers  away  from  the  lupine  bed,  and  once  on 
the  smooth,  firmer  ground,  the  Lambs  got  an 
advantage  that  quite  offset  the  weariness  they 
began  to  feel ;  and  Scotty,  plunging  and  chasing 
first  this  way  and  then  that,  did  not  realize  that 
the  whole  thing  was  being  managed  by  the  old 
ones,  till  they  reached  the  lowest  spur  of  the 
Gunder  Peak,  a  ragged,  broken,  rocky  cliff,  up 
which  the  mothers  bounded.  Then  the  little 
ones  felt  a  new  power,  just  as  a  young  Duck 
must  when  first  he  drops  in  the  water.  Their 
little  black  rubber  hoofs  gripped  the  slippery 
rocks  as  no  man's  foot  can  do  it,  and  they 
soared  on  their  new-found  mountain  wings,  up 
and  away,  till  led  by  their  mothers  out  of  sight. 
It  was  well  for  them  that  Scotty  had  laid 
aside  his  rifle,  for  a  Sheep  at  a  hundred  yards 
22 


Kragf,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

was  as  good  as  dead  when  he  pulled  on  it.  He 
now  rushed  back  for  his  weapon,  but  before  he 
could  harm  them,  a  bank  of  fog  from  the  Peak 
came  rolling  between.  The  same  White  Wind 
that  brought  the  treacherous  trailing  snow  that 
had  betrayed  them  to  their  deadliest  foe,  now 
brought  the  fog  that  screened  them  from  his  view. 

So  Scotty  could  only  stare  up  the  cliff  and, 
half  in  admiration,  mutter :  "  The  little  divils 
the  little  divils — too  smart  for  me,  and  them 
less'n  an  hour  old." 

For  now  he  fully  knew  the  meaning  of  the 
uneasy  wandering  that  he  had  read  in  the  old 
ones'  trails. 

He  spent  the  rest  of  the  day  in  bootless  hunt- 
ing, and  at  night  went  home  hungry,  to  dine  off 
a  lump  of  fat  bacon. 


Ill 

THE  rugged  peaks  are  not  the  chosen  home,  but 
rather  the  safe  and  final  refuge,  of  the  Sheep. 
Once  there,  the  mothers  felt  no  fear,  and  thence- 
forth, in  the  weeks  that  followed,  they  took  care 
that  in  feeding  they  should  never  wander  far 
23 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

on  the  open  away  from  their  haven  on  the 
crags. 

The  Lambs  were  of  a  sturdy  stock,  and  grew 
so  fast  that  within  a  week  they  were  strong 
enough  to  keep  up  with  their  mothers  when  the 
sudden  appearance  of  a  Mountain  Lion  forced 
them  all  to  run  for  their  lives. 

The  snow  of  the  Lambs'  birthday  had  gone 
again  within  a  few  hours,  and  all  the  hills  were 
now  carpeted  with  grass  and  flowers.  The  abun- 
dant food  for  the  mothers  meant  plenty  of  the 
best  for  the  young  ones,  and  they  waggled  their 
tails  in  satisfaction  as  they  helped  themselves. 
One  of  the  Lambs,  whose  distinguishing  mark 
was  a  very  white  nose,  was  stockily  built,  while 
his  playmate,  slightly  taller  and  more  graceful. 

i  was  peculiar  in  having  little  nubbins  of  horns 

/  within  a  few  days  of  his  birth. 

'  They  were  fairly  matched,  and  frisked  and 

raced  alongside  their  mothers  or  fought  together 
the  livelong  day.  One  would  dash  away,  and 
the  other  behind  him  try  to  butt  him  ;  or  if  they 
came  to  an  inviting  hillock  they  began  at  once 
the  world-old,  world-wide  game  of  King  of  the 
Castle.  One  would  mount  and  hold  his  friend 
24 


J 


The  World-wide  Game  of  King  of  the  Castle. 


Kragf,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

at  bay.  Stamping  and  shaking  his  little  round 
head,  he  would  give  the  other  to  understand 
that  he  was  King  of  the  Castle ;  and  then 
back  would  go  their  pretty  pink  ears,  the  round 
woolly  heads  would  press  together,  and  the  in- 
nocent brown  eyes  roll  as  they  tried  to  look 
terribly  fierce  and  push  and  strive,  till  one, 
forced  to  his  knees,  would  wheel  and  kick  up 
his  heels  as  though  to  say:  "I- didn't  want 
your  old  castle,  anyway,"  but  would  straightway 
give  himself  the  lie  by  seeking  out  a  hillock  for 
himself,  and,  posing  on  its  top  with  his  fiercest 
look,  would  stamp  and  shake  his  head,  after 
the  way  that,  in  their  language,  stands  for  the 
rhyming  challenge  in  ours,  and  the  combat 
scene  would  be  repeated. 

In  these  encounters  Whitenose  generally  had 
the  best  of  it  because  of  his  greater  weight ;  but 
in  the  races  Nubbins  was  easily  first.  His 
activity  was  tireless ;  from  morning  till  evening 
he  seemed  able  to  caper  and  jump. 

At  night  they  usually  slept  close  against  their 

mothers,  in  some  sheltered  nook  where  they 

could  see  the  sunrise,  or  rather  where  they  could 

feel  it,  for  that  was  more  important ;  and  Nub- 

27 


Krag,  the  Kootcnay  Ram 

bins,  always  active,  was  sure  to  be  up  first  of 
the  Lambs.  Whitenose  was  inclined  to  be  lazy, 
and  would  stay  curled  up,  the  last  of  the  family 
to  begin  the  day  of  activity.  His  snowy  nose 
was  matched  by  a  white  patch  behind,  as  in 
all  Bighorn  Sheep,  only  larger  and  whiter  than 
usual,  and  this  patch  afforded  so  tempting  a 
mark  that  Nubbins  never  could  resist  a  good 
chance  to  charge  at  it.  He  was  delighted  if, 
in  the  morning,  he  could  waken  his  little  friend 
by  what  he  considered  a  tremendous  butt  on 
his  beautiful  patch  of  white. 

Mountain  Sheep  usually  go  in  bands ;  the 
more  in  the  band,  the  more  eyes  for  danger. 
But  the  hunters  had  been  very  active  in  the 
Kootenay  country ;  Scotty  in  particular  had 
been  relentless.  His  shanty  roof  was  littered 
over  with  horns  of  choice  Rams,  and  inside 
it  was  half-filled  with  a  great  pile  of  Sheepskins 
awaiting  a  market.  So  the  droves  of  Bighorn 
were  reduced  to  a  few  scattering  bands,  the 
largest  of  which  was  less  than  thirty,  and  many, 
like  that  of  which  I  speak,  had  but  three  or 
four  in  it. 

Once  or  twice  during  the  first  fortnight  of 
28 


Krag,  the  Kootcnay  Ram 


June  old  Scotty  had  crossed  the  Sheep  range, 
with  his  rifle  ready,  for  game  was  always  in 
season  for  him ;  but  each  time,  one  or  the  other 
of  the  alert  mothers  saw  him  afar,  and  either 
led  quickly  away,  or,  by  giving  a  short,  peculiar 
sniff,  had  warned  the  others  not  to  move ;  then 
all  stood  still  as  stones,  and  so  escaped,  when 
a  single  move  might  easily  have  brought  sure 
death.  When  the  enemy  was  out  of  sight  they 
quickly  changed  to  some  distantpart  of  the  range. 

But  one  day,  as  they  rounded  a  corner  of  the 
pine  woods,  they  smelled  an  unknown  smell. 
They  stopped  to  know  what  it  was,  when  a 
large  dark  animal  sprang  from  a  rock  and  struck 
Whitenose's  mother  down. 

Nubbins  and  his  mother  fled  in  terror,  and 
the  Wolverine,  for  that  was  the  enemy,  put  a 
quick  end  to  her  life ;  but  before  he  began  to 
feast  he  sprang  on  Whitenose,  who  was  standing 
stupefied,  and  with  merciful  mercilessness  laid 
him  by  his  mother. 

IV 

NUBBINS'S  mother  was  a  medium-sized,  well-knit 

creature.     She  had  horns  longer  and  sharper 

29 


_~  v\\i 


Krag>  the  Kootcnay  Ram 


than  usual  for  a  Ewe,  and  they  were  of  the  kind 
called  Spikehorns  or  Spikers;  she  also  had 
plenty  of  good  Sheep  sense.  The  region  above 
Tobacco  Creek  had  been  growing  more  dan- 
gerous each  month,  thanks  chiefly  to  Scotty, 
and  the  Mother  Sheep's  intention  to  move  out 
was  decided  for  her  by  the  morning's  tragedy. 

She  careered  along  the  slope  of  the  Gunder 
Peak  at  full  speed,  but  before  going  over  each 
rising  ground  she  stopped  and  looked  over  it, 
ahead  and  back,  remaining  still  as  a  lichen- 
patched  rock  for  a  minute  or  more  in  each  place 
while  she  scanned  the  range  around. 

Once  as  she  did  this  she  saw  a  dark,  moving 
figure  on  a  range  behind  her.  It  was  old 
Scotty.  She  was  in  plain  view,  but  she  held  as 
still  as  could  be,  and  so  escaped  notice ;  and 
when  the  man  was  lost  behind  the  rocks  she 
bounded  away  faster  than  before,  with  little 
Nubbins  scampering  after.  At  each  ridge  she 
looked  out  carefully;  but  seeing  no  more  of 
either  her  enemy  or  her  friends,  she  pushed  on 
quietly  all  that  day,  travelling  more  slowly  as 
the  danger-field  was  left  behind. 

Toward  evening,  as  she  mounted  the  Yak-in-i- 
30 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

kak  watershed,  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  moving 
forms  on  a  ridge  ahead.  After  a  long  watch  she 
made  out  that  they  were  in  the  uniform  of 
Sheep — gray,  with  white-striped  stockings  and 
white  patches  on  face  and  stern.  They  were 
going  up  wind.  Keeping  out  of  view,  she  made 
so  as  to  cross  their  back  trail,  which  she  soon 
found,  and  thus  learned  that  her  guess  was 
right:  there  were  the  tracks  of  two  large  Big- 
horn ;  but  the  trail  also  said  that  they  were  Rams. 
According  to  Mountain  Sheep  etiquette,  the 
Rams  form  one  community  and  the  Ewes  and 
Lambs  another.  They  must  not  mix  or  seek 
each  other's  society,  excepting  during  the  early 
winter,  the  festal  months,  the  time  of  love  and 
mating. 

Nubbins's  mother,  or  the  Spikerdoe,  as  we 
may  call  her,  left  the  trail  and  went  over  the 
watershed,  glad  to  know  that  this  was  a  Sheep 
region.  She  rested  for  the  night  in  a  hollow, 
and  next  morning  she  journeyed  on,  feeding  as 
she  went.  Presently  the  mother  caught  a  scent 
that  made  her  pause.  She  followed  it  a  little. 
Others  joined  on  or  crisscrossed,  and  she  knew 
now  that  she  had  found  the  trail  of  a  band  of 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

Ewes  and  Lambs.  She  followed  steadily,  and 
Nubbins  skipped  alongside,  missing  his  play- 
mate, but  making  up  as  far  as  possible  by  doing 
double  work. 

Within  a  very  few  minutes  she  sighted  the 
band,  over  a  dozen  in  all— her  own  people. 
The  top  of  her  head  was  just  over  a  rock,  so 
that  she  saw  them  first ;  but  when  Nubbins 
poked  up  his  round  head  to  see,  the  slight 
movement  caught  the  eye  of  a  watchful  mother 
in  the  flock.  She  gave  the  signal  that  turned 
all  the  band  to  statues,  with  heads  their  way. 
It  was  now  the  Spiker's  turn.  She  walked  forth 
in  plain  view.  The  band  galloped  over  the  hill, 
but  circled  behind  it  to  the  left,  while  Nubbins 
and  his  mother  went  to  the  right. 

In  this  way  their  positions  in  the  wind  were 
reversed.  Formerly  she  could  smell  them ;  now 
they  could  smell  her ;  and  having  already  seen 
her  uniform  from  afar,  they  were  sure  her  cre- 
dentials were  right.  She  came  cautiously  up 
to  them.  A  leading  Ewe  walked  out  to  meet 
her.  They  sniffed  and  gazed.  The  leader 
stamped  her  feet,  and  the  Spikerdoe  got  ready 
to  fight.  They  advanced  ;  their  heads  met  with 
32 


Kragf,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

a  whack!  then,  as  they  pushed,  the  Spikerdoe 
twisted  so  that  one  of  her  sharp  points  rested 
on  the  other  Ewe's  ear.  The  pressure  became 
very  unpleasant.  The  enemy  felt  she  was  get- 
ting the  worst  of  it,  so  she  sniffed,  turned,  and, 
shaking  her  head,  rejoined  her  friends.  The 
Spikerdoe  walked  after  her,  while  little  Nubbins, 
utterly  puzzled,  stuck  close  to  her  side.  The 
flock  wheeled  and  ran,  but  circled  back,  and  as 
the  Spiker  stood  her  ground,  they  crowded 
around  her,  and  she  was  admitted  one  of  their 
number.  This  was  the  ceremony,  so  far  as  she 
was  concerned.  But  Nubbins  had  to  establish 
his  own  footing.  There  were  some  seven  or 
eight  Lambs  in  the  flock.  Most  of  them  were 
older  and  bigger  than  he,  and,  in  common  with 
some  other  animals,  they  were  ready  to  perse- 
cute the  stranger  simply  because  he  was  strange. 
The  first  taste  of  this  that  Nubbins  had  was 
an  unexpected  "bang! "  behind.  It  had  always 
seemed  very  funny  to  him  when  he  used  to  give 
Whitenose  a  surprise  of  this  kind,  but  now  there 
seemed  nothing  funny  about  it;  it  was  simply 
annoying.  And  when  he  turned  to  face  the 
enemy,  another  one  charged  from  another  direc- 
33 


Krag,  the  Kootcnay  Ram 

tion  ;  and  whichever  way  he  turned,  there  was  a 
Lamb  ready  to  butt  at  him,  till  poor  Nubbins 
was  driven  to  take  refuge  under  his  mother. 
Of  course  she  could  protect  him,  but  he  could 
not  stay  there  always,  and  the  rest  of  the  day 
with  the  herd  was  an  unhappy  one  for  poor 
Nubbins,  but  a  very  amusing  one  for  the 
others.  He  was  so  awed  by  their  numbers, 
the  suddenness  of  it  all,  that  he  did  not  know 
what  to  do.  His  activity  helped  but  little. 
Next  morning  it  was  clear  that  the  others  in- 
tended to  have  some  more  fun  at  his  expense. 
One  of  these,  the  largest,  was  a  stocky  little 
Ram.  He  had  no  horns  yet,  but  when  they 
did  come  they  were  just  like  himself,  thick-set 
and  crooked  and  rough,  so  that,  reading  ahead, 
we  may  style  him  "  Krinklehorn."  He  came 
over,  and  just  as  Nubbins  rose,  hind  legs  first, 
as  is  Sheep  fashion,  the  other  hit  him  square 
and  hard.  Nubbins  went  sprawling,  but  jumped 
up  again,  and  in  something  like  a  little  temper 
went  for  the  bully.  Their  small  heads  came 
together  with  about  as  much  noise  as  two  balls 
of  yarn,  but  they  both  meant  to  win.  Nubbins 
was  aroused  now,  and  he  dashed  for  that  other 
34 


Krag,  the  Kootcnay  Ram 

fellow.  Their  heads  slipped  past,  and  now  it 
was  head  to  shoulder,  both  pounding  away. 
At  first  Nubbins  was  being  forced  back;  but 
soon  his  unusual  sprouts  of  horns  did  good  ser- 
vice, and  after  getting  one  or  two  punches  in 
his  ribs  from  them,  the  bully  turned  and  ran. 
The  others,  standing  round,  realized  that  the 
newcomer  was  fit.  They  received  him  as  one 
of  their  number,  and  the  hazing  of  Nubbins  was 
ended. 


IT  is  quite  common  to  hear  conventionality 
and  social  rules  derided  as  though  they  were 
silly  man-made  tyrannies.  They  are  really  im- 
portant laws  that,  like  gravitation,  were  here 
before  human  society  began,  and  shaped  it 
when  it  came.  In  all  wild  animals  we  see  them 
grown  with  the  mental  growth  of  the  species. 
When  a  new  Hen  or  Cow  appears  in  the  barn- 
yard, she  must  find  her  level.  She  must  take 
rank  exactly  according  to  the  sum  of  her  powers. 
Those  already  there  have  long  ago  ranged 
themselves  in  a  scale  of  precedence  ;  no  one  can 
climb  in  this  scale  without  fighting  all  those 
35 


Krag-,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

over  whom  she  would  go.  Somewhere  in  this 
scale  there  must  be  a  place  for  the  newcomer, 
and  until  this  is  settled,  her  life  is  one  of  battles. 
No  doubt  strength,  courage,  and  activity  fix 
her  standing  in  most  cases,  but  sometimes  wis- 
dom and  keenness  of  sense  are  of  greater  im- 
portance. Which  one  is  the  leader  of  a  band 
of  wild  animals?  Not  necessarily  the  strongest 
or  fiercest.  That  one  might  drive  the  rest,  but 
not  lead  them.  The  leader  is  not  formally 
elected,  as  with  man,  but  is  rather  slowly  se- 
lected, thus,  that  individual  who  can  impress 
the  rest  with  the  idea  that  he  or  she  is  the  best 
one  to  follow  becomes  the  leader,  and  the  gov- 
ernment is  wholly  by  consent  of  the  governed. 
The  election  is  quite  unanimous.  For  if  in 
the  herd  are  some  who  do  not  care  to  follow, 
they  are  free  to  go  the  other  way.  In  many 
kinds  of  animals  that  go  in  herds,  the  leader 
whose  courage  and  prowess  have  so  often  stood 
all  tests,  and  who  has  inspired  all  the  rest  with 
confidence  in  his  sagacity,  is  usually  not  the 
strongest  male,  but  an  elderly  female.  This  is 
especially  the  case  with  Elk,  Buffalo,  Blacktaii, 
and  tne  summer  bands  of  Mountain  Sheep. 
36 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

The  Gunder  Peak  band  of  Sheep  was  made 
up  of  six  or  seven  Ewes  with  their  Lambs,  three 
or  four  Yearlings,  and  a  promising  young  rising 
Ram,  two  years  of  age,  and  just  beginning  to  be 
very  proud  of  his  horns,  now  in  what  is  called 
the  "  ibex  "  stage.  He  was  the  largest  member 
of  the  band,  but  not  by  any  means  the  most  im- 
portant. The  leader  was  a  sagacious  old  Ewe  ; 
not  the  one  that  had  tried  a  round  with  the 
Spikerdoe,  but  a  smaller  one  with  short,  stubby 
horns,  who  was  none  other  than  the  mother  of 
Krinklehorn,  the  little  bully. 

The  Sheep  think  of  this  leader,  not  as  one  to 
be  obeyed,  but  as  the  one  safe  to  follow,  the  one 
who  is  always  wise  ;  and  though  they  do  not  give 
one  another  names,  they  have  this  idea ;  there- 
fore I  shall  speak  of  her  as  the  Wise  One. 

The  Spikerdoe  was  a  very  active  Sheep,  in 
her  early  prime,  cool,  sagacious,  keen  of  eye, 
nose,  and  ear,  and  forever  on  the  watch.  At 
least  once  in  three  steps  she  raised  her  head  to 
look  around,  and  if  she  saw  anything  strange 
or  anything  moving,  she  did  not  cease  gazing 
until  she  had  made  it  out  and  went  on  grazing 
again,  or  else  gave  the  long  snoof  that  made 
37 


Krag-,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

them  all  stand  like  stocks.  Of  course  she  was 
only  doing  what  they  all  did,  but  happened  to 
do  it  better  than  they.  The  Wise  One,  how- 
ever, was  rarely  far  behind  her,  and  sometimes 
ahead  in  seeing  things,  and  had  the  advantage 
of  knowing  the  country ;  but  they  were  so  nearly 
matched  in  gifts  that  very  soon  the  Wise  One 
felt  that  in  the  Spikerdoe  she  had  a  dangerous 
rival  for  the  leadership. 

The  band  was  not  without  its  cranks.  There 
was  a  young  Ewe  that  had  a  lazy  fashion  of 
feeding  on  her  front  "  knees."  The  others  did 
not  copy  her  methods ;  they  vaguely  felt  that 
they  were  not  good.  The  effect  of  this  original 
way  of  feeding  was  to  bring  a  great  callous  pad 
on  each  knee  (in  reality  the  wrist).  Then  those 
growing  pads  and  the  improper  use  of  her  front 
-N  legs  began  to  rob  Miss  Kneepads  of  her  supple- 

(  \v-  ness.     She  could  not  spring  quickly  aside  and 

'    *--*/v Lf  back  as  the  others  could.     Ordinarily  this  does 

'^vuf/*'  '"~         not  matter  much,  but  there  are  times  when  it  is 
*'  J  very  needful.    All  animals  that  must  save  them- 

selves by  flight  have  developed  this  trick  of 
zigzag  bounding.     It  is  the  couching  Hare's 
best  foil  when  sprung  at  by  the  Fox  or  the 
38 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

Hound  ;  it  is  the  sleeping  Rabbit's  only  counter 
to  the  onset  of  the  Wild  Cat ;  it  is  the  resting 
Deer's  one  balk  to  the  leap  of  a  Wolf ;  and  it 
is  the  plan  by  which  the  Snipe,  springing  zigzag 
from  the  marsh,  can  set  at  naught  the  skill  of 
the  gunner  as  well  as  the  speed  of  the  Hawk, 
until  she  herself  is  under  full  headway. 

Another  odd  Sheep  in  the  band  was  a  ner- 
vous little  Ewe.  She  obeyed  the  leader,  except 
in  one  thing.  When  the  short  snoof  turned  all 
the  rest  to  stone,  she  would  move  about,  fidget- 
ing nervously,  instead  of  heeding  the  Wise 
One's  timely  order  to  "  freeze." 


VI 

SOME  weeks  went  by  in  frequent  alarms  and 
flights.  But  the  band  was  ably  sentried,  and 
all  went  well.  As  summer  drew  near  a  peculiar 
feverish  restlessness  came  over  the  Sheep.  They 
would  stand  motionless  for  a  few  minutes,  neither 
grazing  nor  chewing  the  cud.  They  showed 
signs  of  indigestion,  and  kept  on,  seeking  for 
something — they  did  not  know  what.  As  soon 
as  the  Wise  One  herself  felt  this  listlessness  and 
39 


Kragft  the  Kootenay  Ram 

loss  of  appetite,  she  rose  to  the  occasion.  She 
led  the  whole  band  to  a  lower  level,  down 
among  the  timber,  and  lower  still.  Where  was 
she  going?  The  road  was  new  to  most  of  them. 
The  Spikerdoe  was  full  of  distrust ;  she  stopped 
again  and  again ;  she  did  not  like  these  sinister 
lower  levels.  But  the  leader  went  calmly  on. 
If  any  of  the  band  had  been  disposed  to  stop 
and  go  back  with  her,  the  Spikerdoe  would  cer- 
tainly have  made  a  split.  But  all  went  listlessly 
after  the  Wise  One,  whose  calm  decision  really 
inspired  confidence.  When  far  below  the  safety- 
line,  the  leader  began  to  prick  up  her  ears  and 
gaze  forward.  Those  near  her  also  brightened 
up.  They  were  neither  hungry  nor  thirsty,  but 
their  stomachs  craved  something  which  they  felt 
was  near  at  last.  A  wide  slope  ahead  appeared, 
and  down  it  a  white  streak.  Up  to  the  head  of 
this  streak  the  Wise  One  led  her  band.  They 
needed  no  telling ;  the  bank  and  all  about  was 
white  with  something  that  the  Sheep  eagerly 
licked  up.  Oh,  it  was  the  most  delicious  thing 
they  had  ever  tasted!  It  seemed  they  could 
not  get  enough  ;  and  as  they  licked  and  licked, 
the  dryness  left  their  throats,  the  hotness  went 
40 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

from    eye   and    ear,    the    headache   quit  their  |T      j? 

brains,  their  fevered  itching  skins  grew  cool  and  /$^  ' 

their  stomachs  sweetened,  their  listlessness  was  ' 

gone,  and  all  their  nature  toned.  It  was  like  a 
most  delicious  drink  of  life-giving  cordial,  but 
it  was  only  common  salt. 

This  was  what  they  had  needed— and  this 
was  the  great  healing  Salt-lick  to  which  the 
leader's  wisdom  had  been  their  guide. 

VII 

FOR  a  young  animal  there  is  no  better  gift  than 
obedience.  It  is  obedience  to  the  mother  that 
gives  him  the  benefit  of  all  his  mother's  experi- 
ence without  the  risk  of  getting  it.  Courage  is 
good  ;  speed  and  strength  are  good :  but  his  best 
courage,  speed,  and  strength  are  far  below  those 
of  his  mother,  and  they  are  at  his  service  to  the 
uttermost,  if  only  he  will  obey.  Brains  are  all- 
powerful,  but  among  very  young  Bighorn  Sheep 
at  least,  an  obedient  fool  is  far  better  off  than 
the  wisest  headstrong  Lamb  that  ever  drew  the 
breath  of  life. 

When  they  had  lingered  an  hour  or  two  and 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

licked  the  salt  till  nature  was  satisfied,  the  Wise 
One  turned  to  go  back  to  the  range.  The 
grass  in  the  valley  was  uncommonly  good, 
rich,  rank,  and  abundant,  and  the  Lambs 
just  beginning  to  feed  were  revelling  in  the 
choicest  of  pasture ;  but  this  was  down  among 
the  timber,  with  all  its  furtive  dangers.  The 
Wise  One,  as  well  as  the  Spikerdoe,  wanted  to 
get  back  to  their  own  safe  feeding-ground. 
She  led  the  way,  and  the  rest,  though  unwilling, 
would  have  followed,  but  little  Krinklehorn  was 
too  much  engrossed  with  the  rich  food.  He 
would  not  follow.  His  mother  missed  him,  and 
when  he  bleated  she  came  back  to  him.  He 
did  not  positively  refuse  to  come,  but  he  lin- 
gered so  that  he  held  his  mother  back  and  en- 
couraged the  others  to  do  the  same.  And  when 
night  fell  the  band  was  still  below  timber-line, 
and  went  to  sleep  in  the  woods. 

A  Mountain  Lion  does  not  make  much  noise 
as  he  sneaks  up  after  his  prey ;  he  goes  like  a 
shadow :  and  not  a  sound  was  made  by  the  great 
hungry  Lion  of  the  Yak-in-i-kak  until  by  chance 
one  little  pebble  touched  by  his  velvet  foot  rolled 
down  the  bank.  It  was  a  slight  noise,  but  the 
42 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

Spikerdoe  heard  it,  and  blowing  the  long  snoooof, 
she  called  little  Nubbins,  and,  in  spite  of  the 
darkness,  dashed  up  the  cliff  toward  her  safe 
home  land.  The  others  also  leaped  to  their 
feet,  but  the  Lion  was  among  them.  The  Wise 
One  leaped  up,  with  a  sign  to  Krinklehorn  to 
follow.  She  also  bounded  toward  safety — was 
saved ;  but  her  Lamb,  always  wilful,  thought  he 
saw  a  better  way  of  escape,  and  finding  himself 
alone,  he  bleated,  "Mother";  and  she,  forget- 
ting her  own  danger,  dashed  down  again,  and 
in  a  moment  the  Lion  laid  her  low.  Another 
Sheep  forged  by,  and  another,  in  the  hurry  and 
uproar  of  flight.  At  each  of  these  in  turn  the 
Lion  sprang,  but  each  offset  his  pounce  by  a 
succession  of  bewildering  zigzag  jumps,  and  so 
escaped,  till,  last  of  all,  poor  Kneepads  made 
past  for  the  rocks,  and  when  the  Lion  leaped 
she  failed  to  play  the  only  balk.  The  power 
that  would  have  saved  her  she  had  long  ago 
resigned  ;  so  now  she  fell. 

Far  up  the  bench  the  Sheep  went  bounding 

after  the  one  that  led.     One  by  one  they  came 

up  as  she  slacked  her  speed,  and  then  they  saw 

that  the  leader  now  was  Spiker.     They  never 

43 


Kragf,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

saw  the  Wise  One  again,  and  so  they  knew  that 
she  must  have  fallen. 

I  When  they  had  reunited  and  turned  to  look 

j  t>  back,  they  heard  from  far  below  a  faint  baah  of 

'^-  -          "7-iA  ^  7        a  Lamb.      All  cocked  their  ears  and  waited. 
/  \  ..'      [  ^         It  is  not  wise  to  answer  too  quickly;  it  may  be 

j    \    '/Iff      '       &  the  trick  of  some  enemy.     But  it  came  again  — 

\     4^f  the  familiar  baah  of  one  of  their  own  flock  ;  and 

|""*&   !>'  Spikerdoe  answered  it. 

f\     \\\  A  rattling  of  stones,  a  scrambling  up  banks, 

i\&v  wj  —  another  baah  for  guidance,  and  there  appeared 
among  them  little  Krinklehorn—  an  orphan 
now. 

Of  course  he  did  not  know  this  yet,  any  more 
than  the  others  did.  But  as  the  day  wore  on 
and  no  mother  came  in  response  to  his  plaintive 
calls,  and  as  his  little  stomach  began  also  to  cry 
out  for  something  more  than  grass  or  water,  he 
realized  his  desolation,  and  baahed  more  and 
more  plaintively.  When  night  came  he  was 
cold  as  well  as  hungry  ;  he  must  snuggle  up  to 
some  one  or  freeze.  No  one  took  much  notice 
of  him,  but  Spikerdoe,  seemingly  the  new  leader, 
called  once  or  twice  in  answer  to  his  call,  and 
almost  by  accident  he  drifted  near  her  when  she 
44 


wj 

A 
V^ 


Dividing  his  Birthright. 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

lay  down  and  warmed  himself  against  her  beside 
his  ancient  enemy,  young  Nubbins. 

In  the  morning  he  seemed  to  Mother  Spiker- 
doe  to  be  her  own,  in  a  limited  sense.  Rubbing 
against  Nubbins  made  him  smell  like  her  own. 
And  when  Nubbins  set  about  helping  himself  to 
a  breakfast  of  warm  milk,  poor  hungry  Krinkle- 
horn  took  the  liberty  of  joining  in  on  the  other 
side.  Thus  Nubbins  found  himself  nose  to 
nose  and  dividing  his  birthright  with  his  old- 
time  enemy.  But  neither  he  nor  his  mother 
made  any  objection,  and  thus  it  was  that 
Krinklehorn  was  adopted  by  his  mother's  rival. 


VIII 

THERE  was  no  one  of  the  others  that  could 
equal  Spikerdoe  in  sagacity.  She  knew  all  the 
range  now,  and  it  was  soon  understood  that 
she  was  to  lead.  It  was  also  understood  that 
Krinklehorn,  as  well  as  Nubbins,  was  her 
Lamb.  The  two  were  like  brothers  in  many 
things.  But  Krinklehorn  had  no  sense  of 
gratitude  to  his  foster-mother,  and  he  always 
nursed  his  old  grudge  against  Nubbins,  and 
47 


Krag,  the  Kootcnay  Ram 

now  that  they  drank  daily  of  the  same  drink, 
he  viewed  Nubbins  as  his  rival,  and  soon  showed 
his  feeling  by  a  fresh  attempt  to  master  him. 
But  Nubbins  was  better  able  to  take  care 
of  himself  now  than  ever.  Krinklehorn  got 
nothing  but  a  few  good  prods  for  his  pains, 
and  their  relative  status  was  settled. 

During  the  rest  of  the  season  they  grew  up 
side  by  side:  Krinklehorn  thick-set  and  sulky, 
with  horns  fast  growing,  but  thick  and  crinkly ; 
and  Nubbins — well!  it  is  not  fair  to  call  him 
Nubbins  any  longer,  as  his  horns  were  growing 
fast  and  long ;  so  that  we  may  henceforth  speak 
of  him  as  Krag,  a  name  that  he  got  years  after- 
ward in  the  country  around  Gunder  Peak,  and 
the  name  by  which  he  went  down  to  history. 

During  the  summer  Krag  and  Krinklehorn 
grew  in  wit  as  well  as  in  size.  They  learned  all 
the  ordinary  rules  of  life  among  Bighorn.  They 
knew  how  to  give  the  warning  sniff  when  they 
saw  something,  and  the  danger  snoo-of  when 
they  were  sure  it  was  dangerous.  They  were 
acquainted  with  all  the  pathways  and  could 
have  gone  alone  to  any  of  the  near  salt-licks 
when  they  felt  the  need  of  it. 
48 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

They  could  do  the  zigzag  bounding  that 
baffles  the  rush  of  an  enemy,  as  well  as  the 
stiff-legged  jumping  which  carries  them  safely 
up  glassy,  slippery  slopes.  Krag  even  excelled 
his  mother  in  these  accomplishments.  They 
were  well  equipped  to  get  their  own  living,  they 
could  eat  grass,  and  so  it  was  time  they  were 
weaned,  for  Spikerdoe  had  to  lay  on  her  fat  to 
keep  warm  in  the  coming  winter.  The  young- 
sters themselves  would  have  been  in  no  hurry 
to  give  up  their  comforting  breakfast,  but  the 
supply  began  to  run  short,  and  the  growing 
horns  of  the  Lambs  began  to  interfere  with  the 
mother's  comfort  so  much  that  she  proceeded 
firmly  and  finally  with  their  weaning,  and  long 
before  the  earliest  snow  flurry  grizzled  the  up- 
land, she  had  them  quite  independent  of  her  for 
their  daily  food. 

IX 

AMONG  the  numbers  of  the  band  that  met  their 
fate  that  summer  was  the  two-year-old  Ram. 
He  had  no  companion  of  his  age  and  sex,  and 
his  sense  of  superiority  developed  a  cock-sure- 
ness  which  resulted  in  his  skin  being  added  to 
49 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

the  pile  in  Scotty's  shanty.  When  the  earliest 
snows  of  winter  came,  all  the  Lambs  were 
weaned  and  doing  for  themselves,  and  the  Ewes 
were  fat  and  flourishing,  but,  being  free  from 
maternal  cares,  had  thoughts  for  other  matters. 
With  the  early  frosts  and  the  bracing  air  came 
the  mating  season,  and,  determined  to  find 
their  mates,  the  Sheep  travelled  about  the  like- 
liest parts  of  the  hills. 

Several  times  during  the  summer  they  had 
seen  one  or  two  great  Rams  in  the  distance,  but 
an  exchange  of  signals  had  made  clear  to  each 
what  the  other  was,  and  they  had  avoided  each 
other's  company.  But  now,  when  a  pair  of 
large  Sheep  were  sighted,  and  the  usual  sig- 
nals exchanged,  there  seemed  no  sign  of  a 
wish  to  avoid  each  other.  As  the  two  tall 
strangers  came  on,  their  great  size,  majestic 
forms,  and  vast  curling  horns  left  no  doubt 
as  to  their  sex,  and,  proud  of  their  honors  and 
powers,  they  pranced  forward.  But  the  for- 
wardness of  Spikerdoe  and  her  band  now 
gave  place  to  a  decided  bashfulness.  They 
turned  as  though  to  avoid  the  newcomers. 
This  led  to  pursuit  and  to  much  manoeuvring 


Kragv  the  Kootenay  Ram 

before  the  two  Rams  were  permitted  to  join  the 
herd.  Then  came  the  inevitable  quarrel.  The 
Rams  had  so  far  been  good  friends — were  evi- 
dently chums ;  but  chumship  and  love  rivalry 
cannot  dwell  together.  It  was  the  old  story — 
the  jealous  pang,  the  seeking  for  cause,  the 
challenge,  and  the  duel.  But  these  are  not 
always  duels  to  the  death.  The  Rams  charged 
at  each  other ;  their  horns  whacked  together  till 
the  chips  flew  from  them  ;  but  after  a  few  rounds 
one  of  them,  the  lighter,  of  course,  was  thrown 
backward,  and,  leaping  up,  he  tried  to  escape. 
The  other  followed  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  and, 
as  he  declined  a  further  fight,  the  victor  came 
proudly  back,  and  claimed  and  was  allowed  the 
position  and  joys  of  Sultan  of  the  band. 

Krag  and  Krinklehorn  were  ignored.  They 
were  in  awe  of  the  great  Ram  who  now  took 
charge,  and  they  felt  that  their  safest  plan  was 
to  keep  as  far  as  possible  away  from  the  present 
social  activities  of  the  flock,  as  they  were  not 
very  sure  of  their  own  standing. 

During  the  first  part  of  that  winter  they  were 
under  guidance  of  the  Ram.  He  was  a  big, 
handsome  fellow,  devoted  to  his  female  follow- 
51 


. 
i* 


Krag,  the  Kootcnay  Ram 

ing,  but  not  without  a  streak  of  masculine  self- 
ishness that  made  him  take  care  to  have  the 
best  of  the  food  and  to  keep  a  sharp  lookout 
for  danger.  Food  was  plentiful,  for  the  Ram 
knew  enough  to  lead  them  not  into  the  sheltered 
ravines  where  the  snow  was  deep,  but  up  on 
the  bleakest  ridges  of  the  upland,  where  the 
frigid  wind  lays  bare  the  last  year's  grass,  and, 
furthermore,  where  no  enemy  can  approach 
unseen ;  so  all  went  well. 


THE  springtime  came,  with  its  thrilling  sounds 
and  feelings.  Obedient  to  their  ancient  law, 
the  Ram  and  the  band  of  Ewes  had  parted 
company  in  midwinter.  The  feeling  had  been 
growing  for  days.  They  were  less  disposed  to 
follow  him,  and  sometimes  he  lingered  far  away 
for  hours.  One  day  he  did  not  rejoin  them, 

»  •  and  thenceforth  to  the  end  of  the  winter  they 

followed  the  Spikerdoe  as  of  old. 

,J'  The  little  ones  came  about  the  first  of  June. 

Many  of  the  mothers  had  two  each,  but  Spiker- 
doe, now  the  Wise  One,  had  but  one,  as 

52 


lf 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

before,  and  this  little  one  displaced  Krag  for 
good  and  engrossed  all  the  mother's  attention. 
He  even  hindered  her  in  her  duties  as  a  leader ; 
and  one  day,  as  she  was  feeding  him  and 
watching  the  happy  wagging  of  his  tail,  another 
Sheep  gave  an  alarm.  All  froze  except  Fidgets. 
She  crossed  before  the  Wise  One.  There 
was  a  far-away  "crack!"  Fidgets  dropped 
dead,  and  the  Spikerdoe  fell  with  a  stifled  baah .' 
But  she  sprang  to  her  feet,  forgetting  her  own 
pain,  and  looking  wildly  about  her  for  her 
Lamb,  she  leaped  on  the  ridge  to  follow  the 
others.  Bang!  went  the  rifle  again,  and  the  old 
Sheep  got  a  first  glimpse  of  the  enemy.  It  was 
the  man  who  had  once  so  nearly  caught  the 
Lambs.  He  was  a  long  way  off,  but  the  ball 
whistled  before  the  Sheep's  nose.  She  sprang 
back  and  changed  her  course,  thereby  leaving 
the  rest,  then  leaped  over  the  ridge,  bleating  to 
her  little  one  to  follow — bleating,  too,  from 
pain,  for  she  was  hard  hit.  But  she  leaped 
headlong  down  a  rocky  place,  and  the  high 
ground  came  between.  Down  the  gully  she 
bounded,  and  out  along  the  farther  ridge,  keep- 
ing out  of  sight  so  well  that,  though  Scotty  ran 
53 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

as  fast  as  he  could  to  the  edge,  he  never  saw 
her  again.  He  chuckled  as  he  noted  the  spots 
of  blood ;  but  these  soon  ceased,  and  after  a 
long  attempt  to  keep  the  trail,  he  gave  it  up, 
cursed  his  luck,  and  went  back  to  the  victim  he 
had  secured. 

Away  went  Spikerdoe  and  her  Lamb,  the 
mother  guiding,  but  the  little  one  ahead.  Her 
instinct  told  her  that  upward  was  the  way  to 
safety.  Up  the  Gunder  Peak  she  must  go,  but 
keep  from  being  seen.  So  she  went  on,  in  spite 
of  a  burning  wound,  always  keeping  a  ridge  be- 
tween, till  round  the  nearest  rocks  she  paused 
to  look.  She  saw  no  sign  either  of  her  friends 
or  her  foe.  She  felt  she  had  a  deadly  wound. 
She  must  escape  lest  her  strength  give  out.  She 
set  off  again  at  a  run,  forging  upward,  and  the 
little  one  following  or  running  ahead  as  he 
pleased.  On  they  went  till  the  timber-line  was 
reached,  and  upward  still  her  instinct  urged 
her  on. 

Another  lofty  bench  was  scaled,  and  then 

she  sighted  a  long  white  streak,  a  snow-drift 

lingering  in  a  deep  ravine.     She  eagerly  made 

for  that.     There  was  a  burning  pain  through 

54 


His  Mother  .      .  was  so  Cold  and  Still. 


Kragf,  the  Kootenay  Ram 


her  loins,  and  on  each  side  was  a  dark  stain  on 
her  coat.  She  craved  a  cooling  touch,  and  on 
reaching  the'  white  patch  sank  on  her  side,  her 
wound  against  the  snow. 

There  could  be  only  one  end  to  such  a 
wound  :  two  hours,  three  hours  at  furthest,  and 
then— well,  never  mind. 

And  the  little  one?  He  stood  dumbly  gaz- 
ing at  her.  He  did  not  understand.  He  only 
knew  that  he  was  cold  and  hungry  now,  and 
that  his  mother,  to  whom  he  had  looked  for 
everything,— food,  warmth,  guidance,  and  sym- 
pathy,— was  so  cold  and  still! 

He  did  not  understand  it.  He  did  not  know 
what  next.  But  we  do — the  lingering  misery, 
and  the  inevitable  finish,  soon  or  late,  accord- 
ing to  his  strength  ;  and  the  Raven  on  the  rock 
knew,  and  waited.  Better  for  the  Lamb,  far 
better,  quicker,  and  more  merciful,  had  the 
rifle  served  him  as  it  did  his  mother. 


XI 

KRAG  was  a  fine  young  Ram  now,  taller  than 

any  of  the  Ewes,  and  with  long  cimetars  of 

57 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

horns.  Krinklehorn  also  was  well  grown,  as 
heavy  as  Krag,  but  not  so  tall,  and  with  horns 
that  looked  diseased,  they  were  so  short,  thick, 
and  bumpy. 

The  autumn  came  again,  with  the  grand  re- 
union of  the  families,  the  readvent  of  the  Kara, 
and  also  with  a  readjustment  that  Krag  had  not 
looked  for.  He  was  just  beginning  to  realize 
that  he  was  a  Ram,  and  to  take  an  interest  in 
certain  Ewes  in  the  flock,  when  the  great  Ram 
came,  with  his  curling  horns  and  thick  bull  neck ; 
and  the  first  thing  he  did  was  to  bundle  Krag 
out  of  the  flock.  Krag,  Krinklehorn,  and  three 
or  four  more  of  their  age  were  packed  off  by 
themselves,  for  such  is  etiquette  among  Sheep. 
As  soon  as  the  young  males  reach,  or  nearly 
reach,  maturity  they  must  go  off  to  study  life 
for  themselves,  just  as  a  boy  leaves  home  for 
college.  And  during  the  four  years  that  fol- 
lowed Krag  led  a  roving  bachelor  life  with  a 
half-dozen  companions.  He  became  the  leader, 
for  he  inherited  his  mother's  wit,  and  they  trav- 
elled into  far  countries,  learning  new  pastures, 
new  ways,  and  new  wisdom,  and  fitting  them- 
selves to  become  fathers  of  large  and  successful 
58 


Krag;,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

families;   for  such  is   the  highest  ambition  of 
every  good  Mountain  Ram. 

It  was  not  choice  that  left  Krag  unmated,  but 
a  combination  of  events  against  which  he  vainly 
chafed,  and  he  was  still  left  with  his  bachelor 
crew.  It  was  really  better  so.  It  seemed  hard 
at  the  time,  but  it  proved  his  making,  for  he 
was  thus  enabled  to  develop  to  the  full  his  won- 
derful powers  before  being  hampered  and  weak- 
ened by  the  responsibilities  and  mingled  joys  of 
a  family.  Each  year  the  bachelor  Rams  grew 
handsomer.  Even  sulky  Krinklehorn  became 
a  tall  and  strong,  if  not  a  fine-looking,  Ram. 
He  had  never  gotten  over  his  old  dislike  of 
Krag.  Once  or  twice  he  put  forth  his  strength 
to  worst  him,  and  even  tried  to  put  him  over  a 
cliff ;  but  he  got  so  severely  punished  for  it  that 
thenceforth  he  kept  away  from  his  foster-bro- 
ther. But  Krag  was  a  joy  to  behold.  As  he 
bounded  up  the  jagged  cliffs,  barely  touching 
each  successive  point  with  his  clawed  and 
padded  hoofs,  floating  up  like  a  bird,  deriding 
all  foes  that  thought  of  following  afoot,  and  the 
sunbeams  changing  and  flashing  from  his  back 
as  the  supple  muscles  working  changed  the  sur- 
59 


Kragf,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

face  form,  he  was  more  like  a  spirit  thing,  that 
had  no  weight  and  knew  no  fear  of  falling,  than 
a  great  three-hundred-pound  Ram  with  five 
year-rings  on  his  horns. 

And  such  horns !  The  bachelors  that  owned 
his  guidance  had  various  horns,  reflecting  each 
the  owner's  life  and  gifts :  some  rough  half- 
moons,  some  thick,  some  thin.  But  Krag's 
curled  in  one  great  sweep,  three  quarters  of  a 
circle,  and  the  five  year-marks  told,  first,  begin- 
ning at  the  point,  of  the  year  when  he  was  a 
Lamb,  and  grew  the  straight  long  spikes  that  had 
helped  him  so  well  in  his  early  fight ;  next  year 
the  growth  thicker  and  much  longer;  the  next 
two  years  told  of  yet  more  robust  growth  with 
lesser  length ;  but  the  last  was  record  of  a  year 
of  good  food,  of  perfect  health,  and  unexampled 
growth,  for  the  span  grown  then  was  longer, 
wider,  and  cleaner  horns  than  any  of  the  others. 

Tucked  away  under  the  protecting  shadow  of 
each  rugged  base,  like  things  too  precious  to 
expose,  were  his  beautiful  eyes.  Dark  brown 
when  he  was  a  Lamb,  yellowish  brown  when  a 
yearling,  they  were  now,  in  his  early  prime, 
great  orbs  of  shining  gold,  or  splendid  amber 
60 


Krag,  the  Kootcnay  Ram 

jewels,  with  a  long,  dark,  misty  depth  in  each, 
through  which  the  whole  bright  world  was  borne 
and  mirrored  on  his  brain. 

There  is  no  greater  joy  to  the  truly  living 
thing  than  the  joy  of  being  alive,  of  feeling 
alive  in  every  part  and  power.  It  was  a  joy  to 
Krag  now  to  stretch  his  perfect  limbs  in  a  shock 
of  playful  battle  with  his  friends.  It  was  a  joy 
to  press  his  toes  on  some  thin  ledge,  then  sail 
an  impossible  distance  across  some  fearful 
chasm  to  another  ledge,  whose  size  and  dis- 
tance he  gauged  with  absolute  precision.  It 
was  a  joy  to  him  to  set  the  Mountain  Lions  at 
naught  by  a  supple  ricochet  from  rock  to  rock, 
or  to  turn  and  drive  the  bounding  Blacktail  band 
down  pell-mell  backward  to  their  own,  the 
lower,  levels.  There  was  a  subtle  pleasure  in 
every  move,  and  a  glorying  in  his  glorious 
strength,  which,  after  all,  is  beauty.  And  when 
to  such  a  being  the  early  winter  brought  also 
the  fire  of  love  and  set  him  all  aglow,  he  was 
indeed  a  noble  thing  to  see.  In  very  wanton- 
ness of  strength  and  power,  he  bounded,  ball- 
like,  up  or  down  long,  rugged  slopes,  leaping 
six  feet  high  where  one  would  have  fully  an- 
61 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

swered  every  end  except  the  pleasure  of  doing 
it.  But  so  he  went,  seeking,  searching— for 
what?  He  could  not  have  told;  but  he 
would  know  when  he  found  it.  Away  he  ca- 
reered at  the  head  of  his  band,  till  they  crossed 
the  trail  of  another  band,  and,  instinct-guided, 
he  followed  after.  In  a  mile  or  two  the  other 
band  was  sighted,  a  group  of  Ewes.  They  fled, 
of  course,  but  being  cornered  on  a  rugged 
bench,  they  stood,  and  after  due  punctilio  they 
allowed  the  Rams  to  approach. 

The  Bighorn  is  no  monogamist.  The  finest 
Ram  claims  all  of  the  Ewes  in  the  flock,  and 
any  question  of  his  claim  must  be  settled  on 
the  spot  in  mortal  fight.  Hitherto  there  had 
been  a  spirit  of  good-fellowship  among  the 
Rams,  but  now  that  was  changed ;  and  when 
great  Krag  bounded  forward,  snorting  out  a 
challenge  to  all  the  rest  to  disprove  his  right  of 
might,  there  was  none  to  face  him,  and,  strange 
to  tell,  with  many  claimants,  there  was  no  fight. 
There  was  nothing  now  for  the  rest  to  do  but 
to  wheel  at  his  command  and  leave  him  to  the 
devotion  and  admiration  of  his  conquest. 

If,  as  they  say,  beauty  and  prowess  are 
62 


Krag-,  the  Kootcnay  Ram 

winning  cards  in  all  walks  of  animal  life,  then 
Krag  must  have  been  the  idol  of  his  band.  For 
matched  with  Rams  he  had  seemed  a  wonder, 
and  among  the  Ewes  his  strength,  his  size,  and 
the  curling  horns  must  have  made  of  him  a 
demigod,  and  the  winged  heart  and  the  brim- 
ming cup  were  his. 

But  on  the  second  day  of  joy  two  Rams  ap- 
peared, and  after  manoeuvring  came  near.  One 
was  a  fine  big  animal,  as  heavy  in  the  body  as 
Krag,  but  with  smaller  horns,  and  the  other 
was — yes,  it  surely  was— Krinklehorn.  The 
new  Ram  snuffed  a  challenge  as  he  came  near, 
then  struck  the  ground  with  his  foot,  meaning, 
"  I  am  a  better  Ram  than  you,  and  mean  to  oust 
you  from  your  present  happy  position." 

Krag's  eyes  blazed.  He  curled  his  massive 
neck.  He  threw  his  chin  up  and  down  like  a 
champing  horse,  shook  his  great  horns  as 
though  they  were  yet  mere  points,  laid  back  his 
ears,  and  charged ;  and  forward  sprang  the  foe. 
Chock.'  they  came  together;  but  the  stranger 
had  an  advantage  of  ground,  which  left  the  first 
onset  a  draw. 

The  Rams  backed  off,  each  measuring  the 
63 


Kragf,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

other  and  the  distance,  and,  seeking  for  firm 
footing,  kept  on  the  edge  of  the  great  bench ; 
then,  with  a  whoof!  they  came  on  again. 
Whack!  and  the  splinters  flew,  for  they  both 
were  prime.  But  this  time  Krag  clearly  had 
the  best  of  it.  He  followed  up  his  advan- 
tage at  once  with  a  second  whack!  at  short 
range,  and  twisting  around,  his  left  horn  hooked 
under  the  right  of  his  foe,  when,  to  his  utter 
dismay,  he  received  a  terrific  blow  on  his  flank 
from  an  unknown  enemy.  He  was  whirled 
around,  and  would  have  been  dashed  over  the 
cliff  but  that  his  horn  was  locked  in  that  of  his 
first  foe,  and  so  he  was  saved ;  for  no  Ram 
has  weight  enough  in  his  hind  quarter  to  oppose 
theheadlong  charge  of  another.  Krag  scrambled 
to  his  feet  again,  just  in  time  to  see  the  new 
enemy  irresistibly  carried  by  the  violence  of  his 
own  charge  over  the  ledge  and  down. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  a  far-away  crash 
told  to  those  on  the  ledge  that  Krinklehorn  had 
found  the  very  end  he  plotted  for  his  foster- 
brother.  Ram  fights  are  supposed  to  be  fair 
duels.  Krinklehorn,  failing  in  fair  fight,  had 
tried  foul,  and  had  worked  his  own  destruction ; 
64 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

for  not  even  a  Bighorn  can  drop  two  hundred 
feet  on  rock  and  live. 

Krag  now  turned  on  his  other  foe  with  double 
fury.  One  more  shock  and  the  stranger  was 
thrown,  defeated.  He  leaped  to  his  feet  and 
bounded  off.  For  a  time  Krag  urged  him  to 
further  flight  by  the  same  means  that  Krinkle- 
horn  once  used  to  persecute  him,  then  returned 
in  triumph  to  live  unmolested  with  his  family. 

XII 

SCOTTY  had  gone  from  his  Tobacco  Creek 
location  in  1887.  The  game  was  pretty  well 
hunted  out.  Sheep  had  become  very  scarce, 
news  of  new  gold  strikes  in  Colorado  had  at- 
tracted him  southward,  and  the  old  shanty  was 
deserted.  Five  years  went  by  with  Krag  as  the 
leading  Ram.  It  was  five  years  under  a  good 
genius,  with  an  evil  genius  removed — five  years 
of  prosperity,  then,  for  the  Bighorn. 

Krag  carried  further  the  old  ideas  that  were 
known  to  his  mother.     He  taught  his  band  to 
abjure  the  lowlands  entirely.     The  forest  cov- 
erts were  full  of  evil,  and  the  only  land  of  safety 
65 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

was  the  open,  wind-swept  peaks,  where  neither 
Lions  nor  riflemen  could  approach  unseen.  He 
found  more  than  one  upland  salt-lick  where  their 
natural  need  could  be  supplied  without  the 
dangerous  lowland  journeys  that  they  once  had 
thought  necessary.  He  taught  his  band  never 
to  walk  along  the  top  of  a  ridge,  but  always 
along  one  side,  so  as  to  look  down  both  ways 
without  being  conspicuous.  And  he  added  one 
famous  invention  of  his  own.  This  was  the 
"  hide."  If  a  hunter  chances  close  to  a  band 
of  Sheep  before  they  see  him,  the  old  plan  was 
to  make  a  dash  for  safety— a  good  enough 
plan  in  the  days  of  bows  and  arrows  or  even  of 
muzzle-loading  rifles,  but  the  repeating  rifle  is  a 
different  arm.  Krag  himself  learned,  and  then 
taught  his  tribe,  to  crouch  and  lie  perfectly  still 
when  thus  surprised.  In  nine  cases  out  of  ten 
this  will  baffle  a  human  hunter,  as  Krag  found 
times  without  number. 

It  is  always  good  for  a  race  when  a  great 
one  arises  in  it.  Krag  marked  a  higher  level 
for  the  Bighorns.  His  children  multiplied  on 
the  Yak-in-i-kak  around  the  Gunder  Peak,  and 
eastward  as  far  as  Kintla  Lake  at  least.  They 
66 


Kr agf,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

were  healthier  and  much  wiser  than  had  been 
the  Bighorn  of  other  days,  and  being  so,  their 
numbers  steadily  increased. 

Five  years  had  made  some  changes  in  Krag's 
appearance,  but  his  body  was  square  and  round 
and  muscular  as  ever ;  his  perfect  legs  seemed 
unchanged  in  form  or  in  force  ;  his  head  was  as 
before,  with  the  heart-shaped  white  patch  on 
his  nose;  and  his  jewel  eyes  blazed  as  of  old. 
But  his  horns,  how  they  had  changed!  Before 
they  were  uncommon ;  now  they  were  unique. 
The  massive  sweeps — the  graven  records  of  his 
life — were  now  a  circle  and  a  quarter,  and  they 
told  of  years  of  joy  and  years  of  strife,  and  one 
year,  tallied  in  a  narrow  band  of  dark  and 
wrinkled  horn,  told  of  the  year  when  all  the 
mountains  were  scourged  by  the  epidemic  of 
grip — when  numbers  of  Lambs  and  their  mo- 
thers died ;  when  many  strong  Rams  suc- 
cumbed ;  when  Krag  himself  had  been  smitten, 
but  recovered,  thanks  to  his  stalwart  growth 
and  native  force,  and  after  a  time  of  misery  had 
shown  no  traces  of  those  wretched  months, 
except  in  the  yearly  growth  of  horn.  For  that 
year,  1 889,  it  was  barely  an  inch  in  width,  plain 
67 


Kragf,  the  Kootcnay  Ram 

for  those  who  read  such  things— a  record  of  a 
time  of  want. 

XIII 

AT  length  old  Scotty  came  back.  Like  all 
mountaineers,  he  was  a  wanderer,  and  he  once 
more  returned  alone  to  his  shanty  on  Tobacco 
Creek.  The  sod  roof  had  fallen  in,  and  he 
hesitated  to  repair  it.  Anyhow  he  would  pros- 
pect awhile  first.  He  took  his  rifle  and  sought 
the  familiar  upland.  Before  he  returned  he 
had  sighted  two  large  bands  of  Mountain  Sheep. 
That  decided  him.  He  spent  a  couple  of  days 
repairing  the  shanty,  and  the  curse  of  the  Yak- 
in-i-kak  returned. 

Scotty  was  now  a  middle-aged  man.  His 
hand  was  strong  and  steady,  but  his  eyes  had 
lost  some  of  their  power.  As  a  youth  he  had 
scorned  all  aids  to  sight ;  but  now  he  car- 
ried a  field-glass.  In  the  weeks  that  followed 
he  scanned  a  thousand  benches  through  the 
glass,  and  many  a  time  his  eye  rested  on  the 
form  of  the  Gunder  Ram.  The  first  time  he 
saw  him,  he  exclaimed,  "  Heavens,  what  horns!  " 
then  added  prophetically,  "Them's  mine!" 
68 


Kf  ag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

and  he  set  out  to  make  them  his.  But  the  Big- 
horn of  his  early  days  were  fools  to  these,  and 
month  after  month  passed  without  his  ever 
getting  a  nearer  view  of  the  great  Ram.  The 
Ram  had  more  than  once  seen  him  at  short 
range,  but  Scotty  never  knew  it. 

Several  times,  through  the  glass,  he  marked 
old  Krag  from  afar  on  a  bench ;  then,  after  a 
labor  of  hours,  stalked  round  to  the  place  only 
to  find  him  gone.  Sometimes  he  really  was 
gone,  but  on  more  than  one  occasion  the  Ram 
was  close  at  hand  and  hidden,  watching  his  foe. 

Then  came  a  visitor  to  Scotty's  shanty — a 
cattle-man  named  Lee,  a  sportsman  by  instinct, 
and  a  lover  of  Dogs  and  Horses.  His  Horses 
were  of  little  use  in  mountain  hunting,  but  his 
Wolf-hounds,  three  beautiful  Russian  Borzois, 
were  his  constant  companions,  and  he  sug- 
gested to  Scotty  that  it  would  be  a  good  plan 
to  try  the  Dogs  on  the  Bighorn. 

Scotty  grinned.  "  Guess  you're  from  the 
plains,  pard.  Wait  till  you  see  the  kind  of 
place  whar  ole  Krag  hangs  around." 


69 


& 


Kragv  the  Kootenay  Ram 


XIV 

WHERE  the  Yak-in-i-kak  River  leaves  its  parent 
mountains,  south  of  Gunder  Peak,  it  comes 
from  a  tremendous  gorge  called  Skinkler's 
Gulch.  This  is  a  mere  crack  in  the  vast  gran- 
ite hill,  but  is  at  least  five  hundred  feet  in  depth. 
Southward  from  the  back  of  Gunder  Peak  is  a 
broken  upland  that  runs  to  a  point  at  this  canon, 
and  ends  in  a  long  promontory  over  the  raging 
walled-in  stream. 

This  upland  is  good  Sheep  range,  and  by  a 
strange  chance  Scotty,  coming  up  there  with 
Lee  and  the  three  Wolf-hounds,  got  a  glimpse 
of  the  Gunder  Ram.  The  men  kept  out  of 
sight  and  hurried  along  by  the  hollows  toward 
the  spot.  But  it  was  the  old  story.  No  sign 
of  their  quarry.  They  found  his  great  hoof- 
mark  just  where  they  had  seen  him,  so  it  was 
no  illusion ;  but  the  hard  rocks  about  refused 
further  information,  and  no  doubt  Scotty  would 
have  had  another  mysterious  disappearance  to 
add  to  his  list,  but  that  the  Dogs,  nosing  about 
in  all  of  the  near  hollows  and  thickets  of  dwarf 
birch,  broke  out  suddenly  into  a  loud  clamor, 
70 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

and  as  they  did  so,  up  jumped  a  huge,  gray, 
white-sterned  animal — the  Ram,  the  wonderful 
Gunder  Ram.  Over  the  low  bushes,  over 
the  broken  rocks,  bounding,  soaring,  floating, 
supple,  certain,  splendid,  he  bore  the  great 
curling  wonders  on  his  head  as  lightly  as  a  lady 
might  her  ear-rings;  and  then,  from  various 
other  coverts,  sprang  up  his  band  and  joined 
him.  Up  flew  the  rifles;  but  in  a  moment 
the  three  great  Dogs,  closing  in,  gave  unwitting 
screen  to  the  one  victim  on  which  every  thought 
was  fixed,  and  not  a  shot  was  heard.  Away 
they  went,  the  Ram  forging  quickly  to  the  lead, 
and  the  others  stringing  along  after.  Over  the 
upland,  flying,  sailing,  leaping,  and  swerving, 
they  went.  Over  the  level  plains  the  Dogs 
would  soon  have  caught  the  hindmost  or  per- 
haps their  noblest  prey,  but  on  the  rugged  rocks 
it  was  clear  that  the  Sheep  were  gaining.  The 
men  ran,  one  to  the  right,  the  other  to  the  left, 
the  better  to  keep  sight ;  and  Krag,  cut  off  from 
the  peak,  dashed  southward  over  the  bench- 
land.  Now  it  was  a  straight  race.  On  it  went 
— on,  southward.  The  Dogs  gained,  and  were 
near  catching  the  hindmost  Sheep;  then  it 
71 


Krag>  the  Kootenay  Ram 

seemed  that  the  Ram  dropped  back  and  now  ran 
the  rearmost.  A  rugged  stretch  was  reached, 
and  there  the  Sheep  gained  steadily,  though 
little.  One,  two,  three  miles,  and  the  chase  was 
sweeping  along  the  rocky  ridge  that  ends  in 
the  sudden  gash  of  Skinkler's  Gulch.  A  minute 
more  and  the  crowd  of  Sheep  were  rounded  up 
and  cornered  on  the  final  rock.  They  huddled 
together  in  terror,  five  hundred  feet  of  dizzy 
canon  all  around,  three  fierce  Dogs  and  two 
fiercer  men  behind.  Then,  a  few  seconds  later, 
old  Krag  dashed  up.  Cornered  at  last,  he 
wheeled  to  fight ;  for  the  wild  thing  never 
yields. 

He  was  now  so  far  from  the  bounding  Dogs 
that  two  rifle-balls  whistled  near.  Of  the  Dogs 
he  had  no  fears — them  he  could  fight ;  but  the 
rifles  were  sure  death.  There  was  one  chance 
left.  The  granite  walls  of  the  Yak-in-i-kak 
could  prove  no  harder  than  the  human  foe.  The 
Dogs  were  within  forty  rods  now,  fine  courage- 
ous animals,  keen  for  fight,  fearless  of  death  ; 
and  behind,  the  hunters,  remorseless  and  al- 
ready triumphant.  Sure  death  from  them,  or 
doubtful  life  in  the  gulch.  There  was  no  time 
72 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

to  hesitate;  he,  the  leader,  must  act.  He 
wheeled  to  the  edge,  and  leaped — down — down, 
not  to  the  bottom,  not  blindly.  Thirty  feet 
downward,  across  the  dizzy  chasm,  was  a  little 
jut  of  rock,  no  bigger  than  his  nose— the  only 
one  in  sight,  all  the  rest  smooth,  sheer,  or  over- 
hanging. But  Krag  landed  fairly,  poised  just 
a  heart-beat.  In  a  flash  his  blazing  eyes  took  in 
another  point,  his  only  hope,  on  the  other  side, 
hidden  under  the  overhanging  rocks  he  had 
leaped  from.  His  supple  loins  and  corded 
limbs  bent,  pulsed,  and  floated  him  across,  there 
got  fresh  guidance  to  his  flight,  then  back,  some- 
times to  a  mere  roughness  of  the  rock,  on  which 
his  hoofs,  of  horn  and  rubber  built,  gripped 
for  an  instant,  and  took  fresh  ricochet  to  another 
point.  Then  sidewise  fifteen  feet,  and  down, 
down  with  modulated  impact  from  point  to 
point,  till,  with  a  final  drop  of  twenty  feet,  he 
reached  a  ledge  of  safety  far  below. 

And  the  others,  inspired  by  his  example,  fol- 
lowed fast— a  long  cascade  of  Sheep.     Had  he 
failed  at  one  point  all  must  have  failed.     But 
now  they  came  down  headlong.     It  was  splen 
did,  it  was  inspiring!      Hop,  skip,  down  they  / 

73 


.4 

/ 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 


came,  one  after  the  other,  now  ten,  now  twenty 
feet,  first  to  last  leaping,  sailing,  bounding  from 
point  to  ledge,  from  ledge  to  point,  with  mas- 
terly command  of  thew  and  hoof,  with  marvel- 
lous poise,  and  absolute  success. 

BUT  just  as  the  last  had  reached  the  second 
slender,  speck-like  foothold  for  its  life,  three 
white-and-yellow  creatures  whirled  past  her  in 
the  air,  with  gurgled  gasps  of  horror,  to  perish 
far  below.  The  Hounds,  impetuous  and  brave, 
never  hesitated  to  follow  a  foe,  and  never  knew 
how  far  more  gifted  was  that  foe  than  them- 
selves until  it  was  too  late.  Down  below,  al- 
most at  the  water's  edge,  Krag  paused  at  length. 
Far  above  he  heard  the  yells  and  whistles  of  the 
hunters ;  below  in  the  boiling  Yak-in-i-kak  he 
saw  a  battered  white-and-yellow  form  being 
hurried  to  the  sea. 

Lee  and  Scotty  stood  blankly  at  the  edge. 
Sheep  and  Dogs  had  vanished ;  no  possibility  of 
escape  for  any.  Scotty  uttered  words  that  had 
no  bearing  on  the  case,  only  they  were  harsh, 
blasphemous  words,  and  seemed  to  be  necessary. 
Lee  had  a  choking  feeling  in  his  throat,  and  he 
74 


Kragf,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

felt  as  no  man  can  comprehend  who  has  not 
lost  a  noble  Dog  by  a  sudden,  tragic,  and  un- 
timely end. 

"Bran!  Rollo!  Ida!"  he  called  in  lingering 
hope  ;  but  the  only  response  was  from  the  West- 
ern Wind,  that  "  snoofed  "  and  whistled  as  it 
swept  down  Skinkler's  Gulch. 


XV 

LEE  was  a  young,  warm-hearted,  impulsive 
cattle-man.  For  a  day  or  two  he  hung  about 
the  shanty.  The  loss  of  his  three  friends  was 
a  sad  blow :  he  had  no  heart  for  more  moun- 
taineering. But  a  few  days  later  a  spell  of 
bracing  weather  helped  his  spirits,  and  he 
agreed  when  Scotty  suggested  a  hunt.  They 
reached  the  upper  level,  when  Scotty,  who  had 
from  time  to  time  been  scanning  the  hills  with 
his  glass,  suddenly  exclaimed : 

"  H— 1!  If  thar  ain't  the  old  Gunder  Ram. 
Thought  he  was  smashed  in  Skinkler's  Gulch!  " 
and  he  sat  down  in  amazement.  Lee  took  the 
glass,  and  he  recognized  the  wonderful  Ram  by 
his  superb  horns.  The  color  rushed  to  the  young 
75 


Kr ag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

man's  face.  Now  was  his  chance  for  glory  and 
revenge  at  once !  "  Poor  old  Bran !  good  Rollo 
and  Ida!" 

Few  animals  have  cunning  enough  to  meet  the 
combined  drive  and  ambush.  Scotty  knew  the 
lay  of  the  land  as  well  as  the  habits  of  the  Ram. 

"  He  ain't  a-goin'  to  run  down  the  wind,  and 
he  ain't  a-goin'  to  quit  the  rocks.  That  means 
he'll  pass  up  by  the  Gunder  Peak,  if  he  moves 
at  all,  an'  he  must  take  one  side  or  the  other. 
He  won't  go  the  west  side  if  I  show  meself 
once  that  ar  way.  So  you  take  the  east;  I'll 
give  you  two  hours  to  get  placed.  I've  a  no- 
tion he'll  cross  the  spur  by  that  ledge." 

Lee  set  out  for  his  post.  Scotty  waited  two 
hours,  then  moved  on  to  a  high  ridge,  and,  clear 
against  the  sky,  he  waved  his  arms  and  walked 
up  and  down  a  few  times.  The  Ram  was  not 
in  sight,  but  Scotty  knew  he  would  see. 

Then  the  old  mountaineer  circled  back  by 
hidden  ways  to  the  south,  and  began  to  walk 
and  cut  over  the  ridges  toward  the  place  where 
the  Ram  had  been.  He  did  not  expect  to  see 
old  Krag,  but  he  did  expect  the  Ram  to  see 
him.  Lee  was  at  his  post,  and,  after  a  brief 
76 


Krag,  the  Kootcnay  Ram 


spell,  he  sighted  the  great  Ram  himself,  bound- 
ing lightly  down  a  ridge  a  mile  away,  and 
close  behind  him  were  three  Ewes.  They  dis- 
appeared down  a  pine-clad  hollow,  and  when 
they  reappeared  on  the  next  ridge  they  were 
running  as  though  in  great  alarm,  their  ears 
laid  back;  and  from  the  hollow  behind  came, 
not,  as  Lee  expected,  the  crack  of  Scotty's 
rifle  or  the  sound  of  his  yell,  but  the  hunting 
chorus  of  Timber  Wolves.  Among  the  rocks 
the  Sheep  could  easily  escape,  but  among  the 
timber  or  on  the  level  such  as  now  lay  ahead, 
the  advantage  was  with  the  Wolves ;  and  a  min- 
ute later  these  swept  up  in  sight — five  shaggy, 
furry  brutes.  The  level  open  was  crossed  at 
whirling  speed.  The  Sheep,  racing  for  their 
lives,  soon  lengthened  out  into  a  procession  in 
order  of  speed :  far  ahead  the  great  Ram ; 
behind  him,  with  ten-yard  gaps  between  them, 
the  three  Ewes ;  and  forty  yards  behind  the  last, 
the  five  grim  Wolves,  closing,  gaining  at  every 
leap.  The  bench-land  narrowed  eastward  to 
pass  a  rocky  shoulder.  Long  years  and  count- 
less perils  had  taught  the  Sheep  that  in  the 
rocks  was  safety,  and  that  way  led  the  Ram. 
77 


Kragf,  the  Kootcnay  Ram 


But  in  the  tangled  upland  birch  the  last  of  the 
Ewes  was  losing  ground;  she  gasped  a  short 
baah  as,  thrown  by  a  curling  root,  she  lost  a 
few  more  precious  yards.  The  Wolves  were 
almost  within  leaping  distance  when  Krag 
reached  the  shoulder-ledge.  But  a  shoulder 
above  means  a  ravine  below.  In  a  moment, 
at  that  call  of  distress,  Krag  wheeled  on  the 
narrow  ledge  and  faced  the  foe.  He  stood  to 
one  side,  and  the  three  Ewes  leaped  past  him  and 
on  to  safety.  Then  on  came  the  Wolves,  with 
a  howl  of  triumph.  Many  a  Sheep  had  they 
pulled  down,  and  now  they  knew  they  soon 
would  feast.  Without  a  pause  they  closed,  but 
in  such  a  narrow  pass,  it  was  one  at  a  time.  The 
leader  sprang;  but  those  death-dealing  fangs 
closed  only  on  a  solid  mass  of  horn,  and  back  of 
that  was  a  force  that  crushed  his  head  against 
himself,  and  dashed  him  at  his  friend  behind 
with  such  a  fearful  vim  that  both  were  hurled 
over  the  cliff  to  perish  on  the  rocks.  On  came 
the  rest.  The  Ram  had  no  time  to  back  up  for 
a  charge,  but  a  sweep  of  that  great  head  was 
enough.  The  points,  forefronting  now,  as  they 
did  when  he  was  a  Lamb,  speared  and  hurled 


Krag  Wheeled  and  Faced  the  Foe. 


Krag:,  the  Kootcnay  Ram 

the  next  Wolf,  and  the  next ;  and  then  Krag 
found  a  chance  to  back  up  and  gather  his 
force.  None  but  a  mad  Wolf  could  have  failed 
to  take  warning  ;  but  on  he  came,  and  Krag,  in 
savage  glory  of  the  fight,  let  loose  that  living 
thunderbolt,— himself,— and  met  the  last  of  the 
furry  monsters  with  a  shock  that  crushed  him 
flat  against  the  rock,  then  picked  him  up  on  his 
horns  as  he  might  a  rag,  and  hurled  him  farthest 
yet,  and  standing  on  the  edge  he  watched  him 
whirl  and  gasp  till  swallowed  in  the  chasm. 

The  great  Ram  raised  his  splendid  head, 
blew  a  long  blast  from  his  nostrils,  like  a  war- 
horse,  and  gazed  a  moment  to  see  if  more  were 
coming ;  then  turned  and  lightly  bounded  after 
the  Ewes  he  had  so  ably  guarded. 

From  his  hiding-place  young  Lee  took  in  the 
whole  scene  with  eager,  sparkling  eyes.  Only 
fifty  yards  away  from  him  it  had  passed. 

He  was  an  easy  mark— fifty  yards,  standing ; 
he  was  a  splendid  mark,  all  far  beyond  old 
Scotty's  wildest  talk.  But  Lee  had  seen  a  deed 
that  day  that  stirred  his  blood.  He  felt  no 
wish  to  end  that  life,  but  sat  with  brightened 
eyes,  and  said  with  fervor:  "You  grand  old 
81 


Krag;,  the  Kootenay  Ram 


warrior!  I  do  not  care  if  you  did  kill  my  Dogs. 
You  did  it  fair.  I'll  never  harm  you.  For  me, 
you  may  go  in  safety." 

But  the  Ram  never  knew ;  and  Scotty  never 
understood. 

XVI 

THERE  was  once  a  wretch  who,  despairing  of 
other  claims  to  notice,  thought  to  achieve  a 
name  by  destroying  the  most  beautiful  building 
on  earth.  This  is  the  mind  of  the  head-hunting 
sportsman.  The  nobler  the  thing  that  he  de- 
stroys, the  greater  "the  deed,  the  greater  his 
pleasure,  and  the  greater  he  considers  his 
claim  to  fame. 

During  the  years  that  followed  more  than 
one  hunter  saw  the  great  Ram  and  feasted  his 
covetous  eyes  on  his  unparalleled  horns.  His 
fame  even  reached  the  cities.  Dealers  in  the 
wonderful  offered  fabulous  prices  for  the  head 
that  bore  them— set  blood-money  on  the  life 
that  grew  them;  and  many  came  to  try  their 
luck,  and  failed.  Then  Scotty,  always  needy, 
was  fired  by  a  yet  larger  money  offer^  and  set- 
ting out  with  his  partner,  they  found  the  Ram, 
82 


Kragf,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

with  his  harem  about  him.  But  in  three  days 
of  hard  following  they  never  got  a  second 
glimpse ;  and  the  partner  "  reckoned  thar  was 
easier  money  to  git,"  and  returned  home. 

But  back  of  Scotty's  sinister  gray  eyes  was 
the  fibre  of  dogged  persistency  that  has  made 
his  race  the  masters  of  the  world.  He  returned 
with  Mitchell  to  the  shanty,  but  only  to  prepare 
for  a  long  and  obstinate  hunt.  His  rifle,  his 
blanket,  his  pipe,  with  matches,  tobacco,  a  pot, 
a  bundle  of  jerked  venison,  and  three  or  four 
pounds  of  chocolate  were  all  he  carried.  He 
returned  alone  next  day  to  the  place  where  he 
had  left  the  track  of  the  Ram,  and  followed  it 
fast  in  the  snow,  winding  about,  in  and  out,  and 
obscured  by  those  of  his  band,  but  always  dis- 
tinguishable by  its  size.  Once  or  twice  Scotty 
came  on  the  spots  where  the  band  had  been 
lying  down,  and  from  time  to  time  he  scanned 
the  distance  with  his  glass.  But  he  saw  nothing 
of  them.  At  night  he  camped  on  their  trail ; 
next  day  he  took  it  up  again.  After  following 
for  hours,  he  came  on  the  place  where  evidently 
the  Ram  had  stopped  to  watch  him  afar,  and 
so  knew  of  his  pursuer.  Thenceforth  the  trail 
83 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

of  the  band  for  a  long  time  was  a  single  line  as 
they  headed  for  distant  pastures. 

Scotty  followed  doggedly  behind ;  all  day 
he  followed,  and  at  night,  in  a  little  hollow, 
crouched  like  a  wild  beast  in  his  lair,  with  this 
difference  only :  he  had  a  fire,  and  he  smoked  a 
pipe  in  very  human  fashion.  In  the  morning 
he  went  on  as  before.  Once  or  twice  in  the  far 
distance  he  saw  the  band  of  Sheep  travelling 
steadily  southward.  Next  day  passed,  and 
the  Sheep  were  driven  to  the  south  end  of 
the  Yak-in-i-kak  range,  just  north  of  Whitefish 
Lake. 

South  of  this  was  the  Half-moon  Prairie,  east 
the  broken  land  that  stretched  toward  the  north 
fork  of  the  Flathead,  and  north  of  them  their 
pertinacious  and  deadly  foe.  The  Sheep  were 
in  doubt  now,  and  as  old  Krag  sought  to  sneak 
back  by  the  lower  benches  of  the  east  slope, 
he  heard  a  "crack!"  and  a  stinging  something 
touched  one  horn  and  tore  the  hair  from  his 
shoulder. 

The  touch  of  a  rifle-ball  on  the  horn  of  a  Ram 
has  a  more  or  less  stunning  effect ;  and  Krag, 
dazed  tor  a  moment,  gave  the  signal  which  in 
84 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

our  speech  is,  "  Every  one  for  himself  now  " ; 
and  so  the  band  was  scattered.  Some  went  this 
way  and  some  that,  running  more  or  less  openly. 

But  Scotty's  one  thought  was  old  Krag :  he 
heeded  no  other;  and  when  the  Ram  made 
straight  away  eastward  down  the  hill,  Scotty 
again  took  up  his  trail,  and  cursed  and 
gasped  as  he  followed. 

The  Flathead  River  was  only  a  few  miles 
away.  The  Ram  crossed  on  the  ice,  and  keep- 
ing the  roughest  ground,  turning  when  the  wind 
turned,  he  travelled  all  day  northeastward,  with 
Scotty  steadily  behind.  On  the  fifth  day  they 
passed  near  Terry's  Lake.  Scotty  knew  the 
ground.  The  Ram  was  going  east,  and  would 
soon  run  into  a  lot  of  lumber-camps ;  then  turn 
he  must,  for  the  region  was  a  box  canon ;  there 
was  only  one  way  out.  Scotty  quit  the  trail, 
and  crossing  northward  to  this  one  defile,  down 
which  the  Ram  must  go,  he  waited.  The 
West — the  Chinook — Wind  had  been  rising  for 
an  hour  or  more,  the  one  damp  wind  of  the  Rock- 
ies, the  Snow  Wind  of  the  Hills ;  and  as  it  rose 
the  flakes  began  to  fly.  In  half  an  hour  more 
it  was  a  blinding  snow-storm.  Things  twenty 
85 


Kragf,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

yards  away  were  lost  to  view.  But  it  did  not 
last ;  the  heaviest  of  it  was  over  in  a  few  minutes, 
and  in  two  hours  the  skies  were  clear  again. 
Scotty  waited  another  hour,  but  seeing  nothing, 
he  left  his  post  and  searched  about  for  sign ; 
and  found  it,  too — a  dimpling  row  of  tracks, 
much  hidden  by  the  recent  snow,  but  clear  in 
one  place  under  a  ledge.  The  Ram  had 
passed  unseen,  had  given  him  the  slip,  saved  by 
the  storm-wind  and  the  snow. 

Oh,  Chinook!  Mother  West  Wind!  that 
brings  the  showers  of  spring  and  the  snows  of 
winter;  that  makes  the  grass  grow  on  these 
great  rolling  uplands ;  that  sustains  the  grass 
and  all  flesh  that  the  grass  sustains ;  that  carved 
these  uplands  themselves,  as  well  as  made  all 
things  that  live  upon  them — are  you  only  a  puff 
of  air,  or  are  you,  as  Greek  and  Indian  both 
alike  have  taught,  a  something  better,  a  living, 
thinking  thing,  that  first  creates,  then  loves  and 
guards  its  own?  Why  did  you  come  that  day 
and  hold  your  muffler  about  the  eyes  of  the 
wolfish  human  brute,  if  it  were  not  that  you 
meant  he  should  not  see  or  harm  your  splendid 
dear  one  as  he  passed? 

And  was  there  not  purpose  in  the  meeting  of 
86 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

these  very  two,  that  you  brought  about  long 
years  ago,  the  day  the  Ram  was  born? 


XVII 

Now  Scotty  thought  there  must  be  an  object 
in  the  Ram's  bold  dash  for  the  east  side  of  the 
Flathead,  and  that  object  must  be  to  reach  the 
hills  around  Kintla  Lake,  on  which  he  was  well 
known  and  had  many  times  been  seen.  He 
might  keep  west  all  day  to-day,  while  the  Chi- 
nook blew,  but  if  the  wind  changed  in  the  night 
he  would  surely  turn  eastward.  So  Scotty  made 
no  further  attempt  to  keep  the  trail,  or  to  make 
the  west  point  of  the  Kintla  Range,  but  cut 
straight  northward  over  the  divide  toward  the 
lake.  The  wind  did  change  in  the  night.  And 
next  day,  as  Scotty  scanned  the  vast  expanse 
between  him  and  the  lake,  he  saw  a  moving 
speck  below.  He  quickly  got  out  of  sight, 
then  ran  to  intercept  the  traveller.  But  when 
he  got  to  the  spot  he  aimed  at,  and  cautiously 
peered,  there,  five  hundred  yards  away,  on  the 
next  ridge,  he  stood — the  famous  Ram.  Each 
was  in  plain  view  of  the  other. 

Scotty  stood  for  a  minute  and  gazed  in  silence. 
87 


k 


Krag>  the  Kootenay  Ram 

Then,  "  Wai,  ole  Krag,  ye  kin  see  the  skull  and 
cross-bones  on  my  gun.  I'm  Death  on  yer 
track ;  ye  can't  shake  me  off.  At  any  price,  I 
mean  to  have  them  horns.  And  here's  for 
luck."  Then  he  raised  the  rifle  and  fired ;  but 
the  distance  was  great.  The  Ram  stood  till  he 
saw  the  puff  of  smoke,  then  moved  quickly  to 
one  side,  and  the  snow  was  tossed  by  the  ball 
not  far  from  his  former  stand. 

The  Ram  turned  and  made  eastward,  skirting 
the  rugged  southern  shore  of  the  lake,  making 
for  the  main  divide ;  and  Scotty,  left  far  behind 
for  a  time,  trudged  steadily,  surely,  behind  him. 
For  added  to  his  tireless  strength  was  the  Saxon 
understreak  of  brutish  grit,  of  senseless,  pig- 
dogged  pertinacity— the  inflexible  determina- 
tion that  still  sticks  to  its  purpose  long  after 
sense,  reason,  and  honor  have  abandoned  the 
attempt,  that  blinds  its  owner  to  his  own  defeat, 
and  makes  him,  even  when  he  is  downed,  still 
feebly  strike — yes,  spend  his  final  mite  of 
strength  in  madly  girding  at  his  conqueror, 
whose  quick  response,  he  knows,  will  be  to  wipe 
him  out. 

It  was  on,  on,  all  day ;  then  camp  for  the 
88 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

night,  and  up  again  in  the  morning.  Sometimes 
the  trail  was  easy  to  follow,  sometimes  blotted 
out  by  new-fallen  snow.  But  day  after  day 
they  went.  Sometimes  Scotty  was  in  sight  of 
the  prize  that  he  pertinaciously  was  hunting, 
but  never  very  near.  The  Ram  seemed  to  have 
learned  that  five  hundred  yards  was  the  farthest 
range  of  the  rifle,  and  allowed  the  man  to  come 
up  to  that,  the  safety  limit.  After  a  time  it 
seemed  as  though  he  much  preferred  to  have 
him  there,  for  then  he  knew  where  he  was. 
One  time  Scotty  stole  a  march,  and  would  have 
had  a  close  shot  had  not  the  fateful  West  Wind 
borne  the  taint,  and  Krag  was  warned  in  time ; 
but  this  was  in  the  first  month  of  that  dogged, 
fearful  following.  After  a  while  the  Ram  was 
never  out  of  sight. 

Why  did  he  not  fly  far  away,  and  baffle  the 
hunter  by  his  speed?  Because  he  must  feed. 
The  man  had  his  dried  venison  and  chocolate, 
enough  for  many  days;  and  when  they  were  gone 
he  could  shoot  a  hare  or  a  grouse,  hastily  cook  it, 
and  travel  all  day  on  that.  But  the  Ram  required 
hours  to  seek  the  scanty  grass  under  the  snow. 
The  long  pursuit  was  telling  on  him.  His  eyes 
89 


Kragv  the  Kootenay  Ram 

were  blazing  bright  as  ever,  his  shapely  corded 
limbs  as  certain  in  their  stride ;  but  his  belly  was 
pinching  up,  and  hunger,  weakening  hunger, 
was  joining  with  his  other  foe. 

For  five  long  weeks  the  chase  went  on,  and 
the  only  respite  to  the  Gunder  Ram  was  when 
some  snow-storm  from  the  west  would  inter- 
pose its  veil. 

Then  came  two  weeks  when  they  were  daily 
in  sight  of  each  other.  In  the  morning  Scotty, 
rising  wolf-like  from  his  frosty  lair,  would  call 
out,  "  Come,  Krag ;  time  we  wuz  a-movin'." 
And  the  Ram  on  the  distant  ridge  would  stamp 
defiantly,  then,  setting  his  nose  to  the  wind,  move 
on,  now  fast,  now  slow,  but  keeping  ever  the 
safe  five  hundred  yards  or  more  ahead.  When 
Scotty  sat  down  to  rest  the  Ram  would  graze. 
If  Scotty  hid,  the  Ram  would  run  in  alarm  to 
some  place  where  near  approach  unseen  would 
be  impossible.  If  Scotty  remained  still  for  some 
time,  the  Ram  would  watch  him  intently  and  as 
still  as  himself.  Thus  they  went  on,  day  after 
day,  till  ten  eventless  weeks  dragged  slowly  by. 
A  singular  feeling  had  grown  up  between  the 
two.  The  Ram  became  so  used  to  the  sleuth- 
90 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

hound  on  his  track  that  he  accepted  him  as  an 
inevitable,  almost  a  necessary  evil ;  and  one  day, 
when  Scotty  rose  and  scanned  the  northern 
distance  for  the  Ram,  he  heard  the  long  snort 
far  behind,  and  turning,  he  saw  old  Krag  im- 
patiently waiting.  The  wind  had  changed,  and 
Krag  had  changed  his  route  to  suit.  One  day 
after  their  morning's  start  Scotty  had  a  difficult 
two  hours  in  crossing  a  stream  over  which  old 
Krag  had  leaped.  When  he  did  reach  the  other 
side  he  heard  a  snort,  and  looked  around  to  find 
that  the  Ram  had  come  back  to  see  what  was 
keeping  him. 

Oh,  Krag!  Oh,  Gunder  Ram!  Why  do 
you  make  terms  with  such  a  foe  implacable? 
Why  play  with  Death?  Have  all  the  hundred 
warnings  of  the  Mother  Wind  been  sent  in  vain? 
Keep  on,  keep  on ;  do  your  best,  that  she  may 
save  you  yet ;  but  make  no  terms.  Remember 
that  the  snow,  which  ought  to  save,  may  yet 
betray. 

XVIII 

THUS  in  the  winter  all  the  Chief  Mountain  was 

traversed ;    the    Kootenay    Rockies,   spur   by 

91 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

spur,  right  up  to  the  Crow's  Nest  Pass ;  then 
westward,  in  the  face  of  the  White  Wind,  the 
indomitable  pair  turned  their  steps,  west  and 
south  to  the  McDonald  Range ;  and  onward 
still,  till  the  Galtom  Range  was  reached.  Day 
by  day  the  same  old  mechanical  following — two 
dark  moving  specks  on  the  great  expanse  of 
snow.  Many  a  time  their  trail  was  crossed  by 
that  of  other  Sheep  and  other  game.  Once 
they  met  a  party  of  miners  who  knew  of  Scotty 
and  his  hunt,  and  they  chaffed  him  now ;  but  he 
stared  blankly,  heeded  them  not,  and  went  on. 
Many  a  time  the  Ram  sought  to  hide  his  fateful 
footprints  in  the  wake  of  some  passing  herd. 
But  Scotty  was  not  to  be  balked ;  his  purpose 
had  become  his  nature.  All  puzzles  he  worked 
out,  and  now  there  were  fewer  interruptions 
of  the  chase,  for  the  snow-storms  seemed  to 
cease,  the  White  Wind  held  aloof,  and  Nature 
offered  no  rebuke. 

On  and  on,  still  the  same  scant  half-mile 
apart ;  and  on  them  both  the  hands  of  Time  and 
Death  seemed  laid.  Both  were  growing  hollow- 
eyed  and  were  gaunter  every  day.  The  man's 
hair  had  bleached  since  he  set  out  on  this  in- 
92 


Kragv  the  Kootenay  Ram 

sane  pursuit,  and  the  head  and  shoulders  of  the 
Ram  were  grizzling ;  only  his  jewel  eyes  and  his 
splendid  sweeping  horns  were  the  same,  and 
borne  as  proudly  as  when  first  the  chase  began. 

Each  morning  the  man  would  rise, — stiff,  half 
frozen,  and  gaunt,  but  dogged  as  a  very  Hound 
infernal, — and  sneak  along,  trying  for  a  close 
shot.  But  always  Krag  was  warned  in  time, 
and  springing  into  view  from  his  own  couch, 
would  lead  the  chase  as  before.  Till  in  the 
third  month  they  crossed  again  from  Galtom  to 
Tobacco  Range,  then  eastward  back  to  Gunder 
Peak — the  Ram,  and  the  sleuth  inexorable  upon 
his  trail  behind  him.  Here,  on  the  birthplace  of 
the  Ram,  they  sat  one  morning,  at  rest — the  Ram 
on  one  ridge,  Scotty  six  hundred  yards  away 
on  the  next.  For  twelve  long  weeks  the  Ram 
had  led  him  through  the  snow,  over  ten  long 
mountain-ranges — five  hundred  rugged  miles. 

And  now  they  were  back  to  their  starting- 
point,  each  with  his  lifetime  wasted  by  one  half 
in  that  brief  span.  Scotty  sat  down,  and  lit 
his  pipe.  The  Ram  made  haste  to  graze. 
As  long  as  the  man  stayed  there  in  view  the 
Ram  would  keep  that  ridge.  Scotty  knew 
93 


'-^  Kragf,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

this  well;  a  hundred  times  he  had  proved  it. 
Then,  as  he  sat  and  smoked,  some  evil  spirit 
entered  in  and  sketched  a  cunning  plot.  He 
emptied  his  pipe  deliberately,  put  it  away,  then 
cut  some  rods  of  the  low-creeping  birch  behind 
him ;  he  gathered  some  stones ;  and  the  great 
Ram  watched  afar.  The  man  moved  to  the 
edge  of  the  ridge,  and  with  sticks,  some  stones, 
and  what  clothing  he  could  spare,  he  made  a 
dummy  of  himself.  Then,  keeping  exactly  be- 
hind it,  he  crawled  backward  over  the  ledge  and 
disappeared.  After  an  hour  of  crawling  and 
stalking  he  came  up  on  a  ridge  behind  the  Ram. 
There  he  stood,  majestic  as  a  bull,  graceful 
as  a  deer,  with  horns  that  rolled  around  his 
brow  like  thunder-clouds  about  a  peak.  He 
was  gazing  intently  on  the  dummy,  wondering 
why  his  follower  was  so  long  still.  Scotty  was 
nearly  three  hundred  yards  away.  Behind  the 
Ram  were  some  low  rocks,  but  between  was 
open  snow.  Scotty  lay  down  and  threw  snow 
on  his  own  back  till  he  was  all  whitened,  then 
set  out  to  crawl  two  hundred  yards,  watching 
the  great  Ram's  head,  and  coming  on  as  fast  as 
he  dared.  Still  old  Krag  stared  at  the  dummy, 
94 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

sometimes  impatiently  stamping.  Once  he 
looked  about  sharply,  and  once  he  would  have 
seen  that  deadly  crawler  in  the  snow,  but  that 
his  horn  itself,  his  great  right  horn,  must  inter- 
pose its  breadth  between  his  eye  and  his  foe, 
and  so  his  last  small  chance  of  escape  was 
gone.  Nearer,  nearer  to  the  sheltering  rocks 
crawled  the  Evil  One.  Then,  safely  reaching 
them  at  last,  he  rested,  a  scant  half-hundred 
yards  away.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  saw 
the  famous  horns  quite  close.  He  saw  the  great, 
broad  shoulders,  the  curving  neck,  still  massive, 
though  the  mark  of  famine  was  on  all ;  he  saw 
this  splendid  fellow-creature  blow  the  hot  breath 
of  life  from  his  nostrils,  vibrant  in  the  sun  ;  and  he 
even  got  a  glimpse  of  the  life-light  in  those  glow- 
ing amber  eyes :  but  he  slowly  raised  the  gun. 

Oh,  Mother  White  Wind,  only  blow!  Let 
not  this  be.  Is  all  your  power  offset?  Are  not 
a  million  idle  tons  of  snow  on  every  peak  await- 
ing? And  one,  just  one,  will  do  ;  a  single  flying 
wreath  of  snow  will  save  him  yet.  The  noblest 
living  thing  on  all  these  hills,  must  he  be  stricken 
down  to  glut  the  basest  lust  of  man?  Because 
he  erred  but  once,  must  he  be  doomed? 
95 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

But  never  day  was  calmer.  Sometimes 'the 
Mountain  Magpies  warn  their  friends,  but  not 
a  Bird  was  anywhere  in  view;  and  still  the 
Gunder  Ram  was  spellbound,  watching  that 
enemy,  immovable,  across  the  dip. 

Up  went  the  gun  that  never  failed — directed 
by  the  eye  that  never  erred.  But  the  hand  that 
had  never  trembled  taking  twenty  human  lives 
now  shook  as  though  in  fear. 

Two  natures?     Yes. 

But  the  hand  grew  steady ;  the  hunter's  face 
was  calm  and  hard.  The  rifle  rang,  and  Scotty 
— hid  his  head;  for  the  familiar  "crack!"  had 
sounded  as  it  never  did  before.  He  heard 
a  rattling  on  the  distant  stones,  then  a  long- 
drawn  snoof !  But  he  neither  looked  nor 
moved.  Two  minutes  later  all  was  still,  and 
he  timidly  raised  his  head.  Was  he  gone?  or 
what? 

There  on  the  snow  lay  a  great  gray-brown 
form,  and  at  one  end,  like  a  twin-necked  hydra 
coiling,  were  the  horns,  the  wonderful  horns, 
the  sculptured  record  of  the  splendid  life  of  a 
splendid  creature,  his  fifteen  years  of  life  made 
visible  at  once.  There  were  the  points,  much 
96 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 

worn  now,  that  once  had  won  his  Lamb-days' 
fight.  There  were  the  years  of  robust  growth, 
each  long  in  measure  of  that  growth.  Here 
was  that  year  of  sickness,  there  the  splinter 
on  the  fifth  year's  ring,  which  notched  his 
first  love-fight.  The  points  had  now  come 
round,  and  on  them,  could  we  but  have  seen, 
were  the  lives  of  many  Gray  Wolves  that  had 
sought  his  life.  And  so  the  rings  read  on,  the 
living  record  of  a  life  whose  very  preciousness 
had  brought  it  to  a  sudden  end. 

The  golden  chain  across  the  web  of  white 
was  broken  for  its  gold. 

Scotty  walked  slowly  over,  and  gazed  in 
sullen  silence,  not  at  the  dear-won  horns,  but 
at  the  calm  yellow  eyes,  unclosed,  and  yet 
undimmed  by  death.  Stone-cold  was  he.  He 
did  not  understand  himself.  He  did  not  know 
that  this  was  the  sudden  drop  after  the  long, 
long  slope  up  which  he  had  been  forcing  him- 
self for  months.  He  sat  down  twenty  yards 
away,  with  his  back  to  the  horns.  He  put  a 
quid  of  tobacco  in  his  mouth.  But  his  mouth 
was  dry;  he  spat  it  out  again.  He  did  not 
know  what  he  himself  felt.  Words  played  but 
97 


Kragv  the  Kootenay  Ram 

little  part  in  his  life,  and  his  lips  uttered  only  a 
torrent  of  horrid  blasphemies,  his  one  emotional 
outburst. 

A  long  silence ;  then,  "  I'd  give  it  back  to 
him  if  I  could." 

He  stared  at  the  distance.  His  eyes  fell  on 
the  coat  he  had  left,  and  realizing  that  he  was 
cold,  he  walked  across  and  gathered  up  his 
things.  Then  he  returned  to  the  horns,  and 
over  him  came  the  wild,  inhuman  lusting  for 
his  victim's  body  that  he  had  heard  his  com- 
rades speak  of,  but  had  never  before  under- 
stood— the  reactionary  lust  that  makes  the 
panther  fondle  and  caress  the  deer  he  has 
stricken  down.  He  made  a  fire ;  then,  feeling 
more  like  himself,  he  skinned  the  Ram's  neck 
and  cut  off  the  head.  This  was  familiar  work, 
and  he  followed  it  up  mechanically,  cutting  meat 
enough  to  satisfy  his  hunger.  Then,  bowing  his 
shoulders  beneath  the  weight  of  his  massive 
trophy,— a  weight  he  would  scarcely  have  no- 
ticed three  months  ago, — he  turned  from  the 
chase,  old,  emaciated,  grizzled,  and  haggard, 
and  toiled  slowly  down  to  the  shanty  he  had 
left  twelve  weeks  before. 
98 


Kragv  the  Kootenay  Ram 


XIX 

"No!  Money  couldn't  buy  it";  and  Scotty 
turned  sullenly  away  to  end  discussion.  He 
waited  a  time  till  the  taxidermist  had  done  his 
best,  then  he  retraversed  three  hundred  miles 
of  mountain  to  his  lonely  home.  He  removed 
the  cover,  and  hung  the  head  where  it  got  the 
best  light.  The  work  was  well  done :  the  horns 
were  unchanged;  the  wonderful  golden  eyes 
were  there,  and  when  a  glint  of  light  gave  to 
them  a  semblance  of  regard,  the  mountaineer 
felt  once  more  some  of  the  feelings  of  that  day 
on  the  ridge.  He  covered  up  the  head  again. 

Those  who  knew  him  best  say  he  kept  it 
covered  and  never  spoke  about  it.  But  one 
man  said:  "Yes;  I  saw  him  uncover  it  once, 
and  look  kind  o'  queer."  The  only  remark  he 
ever  made  about  it  was:  "Them's  my  horns, 
but  he'll  get  even  with  me  yet." 

Four  years  went  by.  Scotty,  now  known  as 
Old  Man  Scotty,  had  never  hunted  since.  He 
had  broken  himself  down  in  that  long  madness. 
He  lived  now  entirely  by  his  gold-pan,  was 
quite  alone,  and  was  believed  to  have  something 
99 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 


on  his  mind.  One  day,  late  in  the  winter,  an 
old  partner  stopped  at  his  shanty.  Their  hours 
of  conversation  did  not  amount  to  as  many 
paragraphs. 

"  I  heared  about  ye  killin'  the  Gunder  Ram." 

Scotty  nodded. 

"  Let's  see  him,  Scotty." 

"  Suit  yourself  "  ;  and  the  old  man  jerked  his 
head  toward  the  draped  thing  on  the  wall.  The 
stranger  pulled  off  the  cloth,  and  then  followed 
the  usual  commonplace  exclamations  of  won- 
der. Scotty  received  them  in  silence ;  but  he 
turned  to  look.  The  firelight  reflected  in  the 
glassy  eyes  lent  a  red  and  angry  glare. 

"  Kivver  him  up  when  you're  through,"  said 
Scotty,  and  turned  to  his  smoking. 

"  Say,  Scotty,  why  don't  ye  sell  him  if  he 
bothers  ye  that-a-way  ?  That  there  New-Yorker 
told  me  to  tell  ye  that  he'd  give — " 

"To  h — 1  with  yer  New-Yorker!  I'll  niver 
sell  him — I'll  niver  part  with  him.  I  stayed  by 
him  till  I  done  him  up,  an'  he'll  stay  by  me  till 
he  gits  even.  He's  been  a-gittin'  back  at  me 
these  four  years.  He  broke  me  down  on  that 
trip.  He's  made  an  old  man  o'  me.  He's  left 
100 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 


me  half  luny.  He's  sucking  my  life  out  now. 
But  he  ain't  through  with  me  yet.  Thar's  more 
o'  him  round  than  that  head.  I  tell  ye,  when 
that  old  Chinook  comes  a-blowin'  up  the  Ter- 
bak-ker  Crik,  I've  heared  noises  that  the  wind 
don't  make.  I've  heared  him  just  the  same  as  I 
done  that  day  when  he  blowed  his  life  out 
through  his  nose,  an'  me  a-layin'  on  my  face 
afore  him.  I'm  up  ag'in'  it,  an'  I'm  a-goin'  to 
face  it  out — right — here— on— Ter-bak-ker — 
Crik." 

The  White  Wind  rose  high  that  night,  and 
hissed  and  wailed  about  Scotty's  shanty.  Ordi- 
narily the  stranger  might  not  have  noticed  it; 
but  once  or  twice  there  came  in  over  the  door 
a  long  sn00ftha.t  jarred  the  latch  and  rustled  vio- 
lently the  drapery  of  the  head.  Scotty  glanced 
at  his  friend  with  a  wild,  scared  look.  No 
need  for  a  word ;  the  stranger's  face  was  white. 

In  the  morning  it  was  snowing,  but  the 
stranger  went  his  way.  All  that  day  the  White 
Wind  blew,  and  the  snow  came  down  harder 
and  harder.  Deeper  and  deeper  it  piled  on 
everything.  All  the  smaller  peaks  were  rounded 
off  with  snow,  and  all  the  hollows  of  the  higher 


Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram 


ridges  levelled.  Still  it  came  down,  not  drifting, 
but  piling  up,  heavy,  soft,  adhesive — all  day 
long,  deeper,  heavier,  rounder.  As  night  came 
on,  the  Chinook  blew  yet  harder.  It  skipped 
from  peak  to  peak  like  a  living  thing— no  puff 
of  air,  but  a  living  thing,  as  Greek  and  Indian 
both  alike  have  taught,  a  being  who  creates, 
then  loves  and  guards  its  own.  It  came  like  a 
mighty  goddess,  like  an  angry  angel  with  a 
bugle-horn,  with  a  dreadful  message  from  the 
far-off  western  sea — a  message  of  war;  for  it 
sang  a  wild,  triumphant  battle-song,  and  the 
strain  of  the  song  was : 

I  am  the  mothering  White  Wind ; 

This  is  my  hour  of  might. 
The  hills  and  the  snow  are  my  children ; 

My  service  they  do  to-night. 

And  here  and  there,  at  the  word  received, 
there  were  mighty  doings  among  the  peaks. 
Here  new  effects  were  carven  with  a  stroke ; 
here  lakes  were  made  or  unmade;  here  mes- 
sengers of  life  and  death  despatched.  An 
avalanche  from  PurcelFs  Peak  went  down  to 
gash  the  sides  and  show  'ong  veins  of  gold ; 
102 


Kragt  the  Kootenay  Ram 


another  hurried,  by  the  White  Wind  sent,  to 
block  a  stream  and  turn  its  wasted  waters  to  a 
thirsty  land — a  messenger  of  mercy.  But  down 
the  Gunder  Peak  there  whirled  a  monstrous 
mass,  charged  with  a  mission  of  revenge. 
Down,  down,  down,  loud  snoofing  as  it  went, 
and  sliding  on  from  shoulder,  ledge,  and  long 
incline,  now  wiping  out  a  forest  that  would 
bar  its  path,  then  crashing,  leaping,  rolling, 
smashing  over  cliff  and  steep  descent,  still 
gaining  as  it  sped.  Down,  down,  faster,  fiercer, 
in  one  fell  and  fearful  rush,  and  Scotty's  shanty, 
in  its  track,  with  all  that  it  contained,  was 
crushed  and  swiftly  blotted  out.  The  hunter 
had  forefelt  his  doom.  The  Ram's  own  Mother 
White  Wind,  from  the  western  sea,  had  come — 
had  long  delayed,  but  still  had  come  at  last. 

VER  the  rocky  upland  dawned  the 
spring,  over  the  level  plain  of  Tobacco 
Creek.     Gently  the  rains  from  the 
westward  washed  the  great  white  pile 
of  the  snow-slide.     Slowly  the  broken  shanty 
came  to  light ;  and  there  in  the  middle,  quite 
unharmed,  was  the  head  of  the  Gunder  Ram. 
103 


Krag,  the  Kootcnay  Ram 

His  amber  eyes  were  gleaming  bright  as  of  old, 
under  cover  of  those  wonderful  horns;  and 
below  him  were  some  broken  bones,  with  rags 
and  grizzled  human  hair. 

Old  Scotty  is  forgotten,  but  the  Ram's  head 
hangs  enshrined  on  a  palace  wall  to-day,  a 
treasure  among  kingly  treasures ;  and  men, 
when  they  gaze  on  those  marvellous  horns,  still 
talk  of  the  glorious  Gunder  Ram  who  grew  them 
far  away  on  the  heights  of  the  Kootenay. 


104 


Krag. 


r 

t&  jWi  r£\  rft\  r&\7&i 


A  Street  Troubadour : 

Being  the  Adventures  of  a  Cock  Sparrow 


A  Street  Troubadour : 

Being  the  Adventures  of  a  Cock  Sparrow 


UCH  a  chirruping,  such 
a  twittering,  and  such  a 
squirming,  fluttering  mass! 
Half  a  dozen  English  Spar- 
rows rolling  over  and  chat- 
tering around  one  another 
in  the  Fifth  Avenue  gut- 
ter, and  in  the  middle  of  the  mob,  when  it 
scattered  somewhat,  could  be  seen  the  cause 
of  it  all — a  little  Hen  Sparrow,  vigorously,  in- 
dignantly defending  herself  against  her  crowd 
of  noisy  suitors.  They  seemed  to  be  making 
love  to  her,  but  their  methods  were  so  rough 
they  might  have  been  a  lynching  party.  They 
plucked,  worried,  and  harried  the  indignant 
little  lady  in  a  manner  utterly  disgraceful,  ex- 
109 


A  Street  Troubadour 

cept  that  it  was  noticeable  they  did  her  no 
serious  harm.  She,  however,  laid  about  her 
with  a  will.  Under  no  compulsion  to  spare  her 
tormentors,  apparently  she  would  have  slaugh- 
tered them  all  if  she  could. 

It  seemed  clear  that  they  were  making  love  to 
her,  but  it  seemed  equally  clear  that  she  wanted 
none  of  them,  and  having  partly  convinced  them 
of  this  at  the  point  of  her  beak,  she  took  ad- 
vantage of  a  brief  scattering  of  the  assailants  to 
fly  up  to  the  nearest  eaves,  displaying  in  one 
wing,  as  she  went,  some  white  feathers  that 
afforded  a  mark  to  know  her  by,  and  may  have 
been  one  of  her  chief  charms. 


II 


A  COCK  SPARROW,  in  the  pride  of  his  black  cra- 
vat and  white  collar-points,  was  hard  at  work 
building  in  a  bird-house  that  some  children  had 
set  on  a  pole  in  the  garden  for  such  as  he.  He 
was  a  singular  Bird  in  several  respects.  The 
building-material  that  he  selected  was  all  twigs, 
that  must  have  been  brought  from  Madison  or 
Union  Square,  and  in  the  early  morning  he 
no 


A  Street  Troubadour 

sometimes  stopped  work  for  a  minute  to  utter 
a  loud  sweet  song,  much  like  that  of  a  Canary. 

It  is  not  usual  for  a  Cock  Sparrow  to  build 
alone.  But  then  this  was  an  unusual  Bird. 
After  a  week  he  had  apparently  finished  the 
nest,  for  the  bird-house  was  crammed  to  the 
very  door  with  twigs  purloined  from  the  muni- 
cipal shade-trees.  He  had  now  more  leisure 
for  music,  and  astonished  the  people  about  by 
frequent  rendering  of  his  long,  unsparrow-like 
ditty ;  and  he  might  have  gone  down  to  history 
as  an  unaccountable  mystery,  but  that  a  barber 
bird-fancier  on  Sixth  Avenue  supplied  the  miss- 
ing chapters  of  his  early  life. 

This  man,  it  seems,  had  put  a  Sparrow's  egg 
into  the  wicker  basket-nest  of  his  Canaries. 
The  youngster  had  duly  hatched,  and  had  been 
trained  by  the  foster-parents.  Their  specialty 
was  song.  He  had  the  lungs  and  robustness  of 
his  own  race.  The  Canaries  had  trained  him 
well,  and  the  result  was  a  songster  who  made 
up  in  energy  what  he  lacked  in  native  talent. 
Strong  and  pugnacious,  as  well  as  musical,  this 
vociferous  roustabout  had  soon  made  himself 
master  of  the  cage.  He  had  no  hesitation  in 
in 


II 


i 


^ 


A  Street  Troubadour 

hammering  into  silence  a  Canary  that  he  could 
not  put  down  by  musical  superiority,  and  after 
one  of  these  little  victories  his  strains  were  so 
unusually  good  that  the  barber  had  a  stuffed 
Canary  provided  for  the  boisterous  musician  to 
vanquish  whenever  he  wished  to  favor  some 
visitor  with  Randy's  exultant  paeans  of  victory. 
He  worried  into  silent  subjection  all  of  the 
Canaries  he  was  caged  with,  and  when  finally 
kept  by  himself  nothing  angered  him  more  than 
to  be  near  some  voluble  songster  that  he  could 
neither  silence  nor  get  at.  On  these  occasions 
he  forgot  his  music,  and  his  own  Sparrow  nature 
showed  in  the  harsh  chirrup,  chirrup  that  has 
apparently  been  developed  to  make  itself  ap- 
preciated in  the  din  of  street  traffic. 

By  the  time  his  black  bib  had  appeared  he 
had  made  himself  one  of  the  chief  characters 
and  quite  the  chief  attraction  of  the  barber-shop. 
But  one  day  the  shelf  on  which  the  bird-cages 
stood  gave  way,  all  the  cages  were  dashed 
to  the  floor,  and  in  the  general  smash  many  of 
the  Birds  escaped.  Among  them  was  Randy, 
or,  more  properly,  Bertrand,  as  this  pugnacious 
songster  was  named  after  the  famous  Trouba- 

112 


A  Street  Troubadour 

dour.  The  Canaries  had  voluntarily  returned 
to  their  cages,  or  permitted  themselves  to  be 
caught.  But  Randy  hopped  out  of  a  back  win- 
dow, chirruped  a  few  times,  sang  a  defiant  an- 
swer to  the  elevated-railway  whistle,  and  keeping 
just  out  of  reach  of  all  attempts  to  capture  him, 
he  began  to  explore  the  brick  wilderness  about. 
He  had  not  been  a  prisoner  for  generations. 
He  readily  accepted  the  new  condition  of  free- 
dom, and  within  a  week  was  almost  as  wild  as 
any  of  his  kin,  and  had  degenerated  into  a  little 
street  rowdy  like  the  others,  squabbling  among 
them  in  the  gutter,  giving  them  blow  for  blow, 
or  surprising  all  hearers  with  occasional  bursts 
of  Canary  music  delivered  with  Sparrow  energy. 


Ill 


THIS,  then,  was  Randy,  who  had  selected  the 
bird-house  for  a  nesting-place,  and  the  reason 
for  his  intemperance  in  the  matter  of  twigs  is 
now  clear.  The  only  nest  he  had  ever  known 
was  of  basketwork;  therefore  a  proper  nest  is 
made  of  twigs. 

Within  a  few  days  Randy  appeared  with  a 


A  Street  Troubadour 

mate.  I  might  have  forgotten  the  riot  scene  in 
the  gutter,  as  such  things  are  common,  but  that 
I  now  recognized  in  Randy's  bride  the  little 
white-winged  Biddy  Sparrow  that  had  caused  it. 

She  had  apparently  accepted  Randy,  but  she 
was  still  putting  on  airs,  pecking  at  him  when 
he  came  near.  He  was  squirming  around  with 
drooping  wings  and  tilted  tail,  chirping  like  any 
other  ardent  Cock  Sparrow,  but  occasionally 
stopping  to  show  off  his  Canary  accomplish- 
ment. 

Any  objections  she  may  have  had  were  appa- 
rently overcome,  possibly  by  this  astonishing  dis- 
play of  genius,  and  he  escorted  her  to  the  ready- 
made  nest,  running  in  ahead  to  show  the  way, 
and  hopping  proudly,  noisily,  officiously  about 
her.  She  followed  him,  but  came  out  again 
quickly,  with  Randy  after  her  chirping  and 
beseeching.  He  chattered  a  long  time  before 
he  could  persuade  her  to  reenter,  but  again  she 
came  out  immediately,  this  time  sputtering  and 
scolding.  Again  he  seemed  to  exert  his  power 
of  persuasion,  and  finally  she  went  in  chattering, 
reappeared  with  a  twig  in  her  bill,  dropped  it, 
and  flew  away  out  of  sight.  Randy  came  out. 
114 


A  Street  Troubadour 

All  his  joy  and  pride  in  his  house  were  gone. 
This  was  a  staggering  blow,  when  he  had  looked 
for  unmitigated  commendation.  He  sat  dis- 
consolately on  the  door-step  for  a  minute,  and 
chirruped  in  a  way  that  probably  meant,  "  Come 
back,  come  back !  "  But  his  bride  did  not  come. 
He  turned  into  the  house.  There  was  a  scratch- 
ing sound,  and  he  came  out  at  once  with  a  large 
stick  and  flung  it  from  the  door  to  the  ground. 
He  returned  for  another,  sent  that  flying  after 
the  first,  and  so  went  on,  dragging  out  and 
hurling  down  all  the  sticks  he  had  so  carefully 
and  laboriously  carried  in.  That  wonderful 
forked  one  that  had  given  so  much  trouble  to 
get  here  from  Union  Square,  and  those  two 
smooth  ones,  just  like  the  ones  in  his  foster- 
mother's  nest — all,  all  must  go.  For  over  an 
hour  he  toiled  away  in  silence  and  alone.  Then, 
apparently,  he  had  ended  his  task,  for  on  the 
ground  below  was  a  pile  of  sticks,  as  big  as  a 
bonfire,  the  labor  of  a  week  undone.  Randy 
glared  fiercely  at  them  and  at  the  empty  house, 
gave  a  short,  harsh  chirp,  probably  a  Sparrow 
bad  word,  then  flew  away. 

Next  day  he  reappeared  with  Biddy,  fussing 
"5 


A  Street  Troubadour 

about  her  in  passerine  exuberance  once  more, 
and  chirping  as  he  led  her  to  the  door  again.  She 
hopped  in,  then  out,  looked  aslant  at  the  twigs 
below,  went  back  in,  reappeared  with  a  very 
small  twig  that  had  been  overlooked,  dropped 
it,  and  with  evident  satisfaction  watched  it  fall 
on  the  pile  below.  After  running  in  and  out  a 
dozen  times  they  set  off  together,  and  presently 
returned,  Biddy  with  her  bill  full  of  hay,  Randy 
with  one  straw.  These  were  carried  in  and  pre- 
sumably arranged  satisfactorily.  Then  they 
went  for  more  hay,  and  having  got  Randy  set 
right,  she  remained  in  the  box  to  arrange  the 
hay  as  he  brought  it,  only  occasionally  going 
for  a  load  when  he  was  long  in  coming.  It 
was  marvellous  to  see  how  the  chivalry  in  this 
aggressive  musician  was  reducing  him  to  sub- 
jection. It  seemed  a  good  opportunity  to  try 
their  tastes.  I  put  out  thirty  short  strings  and 
ribbons  in  a  row  on  a  balcony  near.  Fifteen 
were  common  strips,  eight  were  gaudy  strips, 
and  seven  were  bright  silk  ribbons.  Every 
other  one  in  the  row  was  a  dull  string.  Biddy 
was  the  first  to  see  this  array  of  material.  She 
flew  down,  looked  over  it,  around  it,  left  eye, 
116 


A  Street  Troubadour 

right  eye;  then  decided  to  let  it  alone.  But 
Randy  came  closer ;  he  was  not  unfamiliar  with 
threads.  He  hopped  this  way,  then  that,  pulled 
at  a  thread,  started  back,  but  came  nearer, 
nibbled  at  one  or  two,  then  made  a  dart  at  a 
string  and  bore  it  away.  Next  time  Biddy 
came,  and  each  bore  off  a  string.  They  took 
only  the  dull  ones,  but  after  these  were  gone 
Biddy  selected  some  of  the  brighter  material, 
though  even  she  did  not  venture  on  the  gaudiest 
ribbons,  and  Randy  would  have  no  hand  in 
bringing  home  any  but  the  soberest  and  most 
stick-like  materials.  The  nest  was  now  half 
done.  Randy  once  more  ventured  to  carry  in  a 
stick,  but  a  moment  later  it  was  whirling  down 
to  the  pile  below,  with  Biddy  triumphantly  gaz- 
ing after  it.  Poor  Randy!  no  toleration  for 
his  hobby — all  those  splendid  sticks  wasted. 
His  mother  had  had  a  stick  nest, — a  beautiful 
nest  it  was, — but  he  was  overruled.  Nothing 
but  straw  now;  then,  not  sticks,  but  softer 
material.  He  submitted — liberty  had  brought 
daily  lessons  of  submission.  He  used  to  think 
that  the  barber-shop  was  the  whole  world  and 
himself  the  most  important  living  being.  But 
117 


A  Street  Troubadour 

of  late  both  these  ideas  had  been  badly  shaken. 

Biddy  found  that  his  education  had  been  sadly 

neglected  in  all  useful  matters,  and  in  each  new 

kind  of  material  she  had  to  instruct  him  anew. 

When  the  nest  was  two  thirds  finished,  Biddy, 

whose   ideas  were   quite   luxurious,   began   to 

carry  in  large  soft  feathers.     But  now  Randy 

thought  this  was  going  too  far.     He  must  draw 

v^.  the  line  somewhere.     He  drew  it  at  feather  beds. 

IpSF  His  earliest  cradle  had  had  no  such  lining.     He 

proceeded  to  bundle  out  the  objectionable  fea- 

^,  ther  bedding,  and  Biddy,  returning  with  a  new 

load,  was  just  in  time  to  see  the  first  lot  float 
downward  from  the  door  to  join  the  stick  pile 
below.  She  fluttered  after  them,  seized  them  in 
the  air,  and  returned  to  meet  her  lord  coming 
out  of  the  door  with  more  of  the  obnoxious 
plumes,  and  there  they  stood,  glaring  at  each 
other,  chattering  their  loudest,  their  mouths 
full  of  feathers,  and  their  hearts  full  of  indigna- 
tion. 

How  is  it  that  when  it  is  a  question  of  home 
furnishing  we  sympathize  with  the  female?     I 
felt  that  Biddy  had  first  right,  and  in  the  end 
she  got  her  way.     First  there  was  a  stormy 
118 


Z.  •*** 


Randy  Drew  the  Line  at  Feather  Beds. 


A  Street  Troubadour 

time  in  which  quantities  of  feathers  were  carried 
in  and  out  of  the  house,  or  wind-borne  about  the 
garden.  Then  there  was  a  lull,  and  next  day 
all  the  feathers  were  carried  back  to  the  nest. 
Just  how  they  arranged  the  matter  will  never  be 
known,  but  it  is  sure  that  Randy  himself  did  the 
greater  part  of  the  work,  and  never  stopped  till 
the  box  was  crammed  with  the  largest  and  soft- 
est of  feathers.  During  all  this  they  were  usu- 
ally together,  but  one  day  Biddy  went  off  and 
stayed  for  some  time.  Randy  looked  about, 
chirruped,  got  no  answer,  looked  up,  then  down, 
and  far  below  he  saw  the  pile  of  sticks  that  he 
had  toiled  to  bring.  Those  dear  sticks,  just 
like  the  home  of  his  early  days!  Randy  flut- 
tered down.  There  was  the  curious  forked  one 
still.  The  temptation  was  irresistible.  Randy 
picked  it  up  and  hurried  to  the  nest,  then  in. 
It  had  always  been  a  difficult  twig  to  manage 
— that  side  prong  would  catch  at  the  door ;  but 
he  had  carried  it  so  often  now  that  he  knew 
how.  After  half  a  minute's  delay  inside,  while 
he  was  placing  it,  I  suppose,  he  came  out  again, 
looked  perkily  about,  preened  and  shook  him- 
self, then  sang  his  Canary  song  from  beginning 


A  Street  Troubadour 

to  end  several  times,  tried  some  new  bars,  and 
seemed  extremely  happy.  When  Biddy  came 
with  more  feathers,  he  assiduously  helped  her  to 
place  them  inside,  and  then  the  nest  was  finished. 
Two  days  later  I  got  up  to  the  nest,  and  in  it 
found  one  egg.  The  Sparrows  saw  me  go  up, 
but  did  not  fly  chattering  about  my  head,  as  do 
most  Birds.  They  flew  away  to  a  distance,  and 
watched  anxiously  from  the  shelter  of  some 
chimneys. 

The  third  day  there  was  a  great  commotion 
in  the  box,  a  muffled  scuffling  and  chattering, 
and  once  or  twice  a  tail  appeared  at  the  door  as 
though  the  owner  were  trying  to  back  out.  Then 
it  seemed  that  something  was  being  dragged 
about.  At  length  the  owner  of  the  tail  came 
out  far  enough  to  show  that  it  was  Biddy ;  but, 
apparently,  she  was  pulled  in  again.  Evidently 
a  disgraceful  family  brawl  was  on.  It  was 
quite  unaccountable,  until  finally  Biddy  strug- 
gled out  of  the  door,  dragging  Randy's  pet  twig 
to  throw  it  contemptuously  on  the  ground  below. 
She  had  discovered  it  in  the  bedding  where 
he  had  hidden  it;  hence  the  row.  But  I  do 
not  see  how  she  could  drag  it  out  when  he  was 

122 


' 

V 


A  Street  Troubadour 

resisting.  I  suspect  that  he  really  weakened  for 
the  sake  of  peace.  In  the  scuffle  and  general 
upset  the  egg — their  first  arrival — was  unfortu- 
nately tumbled  out  with  the  stick,  and  fell  down 
to  lie  below,  in  porcelain  fragments,  on  a  wet 
yellow  background.  The  Sparrows  did  not 
seem  to  trouble  about  the  remains.  Having 
dropped  from  the  nest,  it  had  dropped  out  of 
their  world. 

IV 

AFTER  this  the  pair  got  along  peaceably  for 
several  days.  Egg  after  egg  was  added  to  the 
nest.  In  a  week  there  were  five,  and  the  two 
seemed  now  to  be  quite  happy  together.  Randy 
sang  to  the  astonishment  of  all  the  neighbor- 
hood, and  Biddy  carried  in  more  feathers  as 
though  preparing  to  set  and  anticipating  a  bliz- 
zard. But  about  this  time  it  occurred  to  me  to 
try  a  little  experiment  with  the  pair.  Watching 
my  chance,  late  one  evening,  I  dropped  a 
marble  into  the  luxurious  nest.  What  happened 
at  once  I  do  not  know,  but  early  the  next  morn- 
ing I  was  out  on  Fifth  Avenue  near  the  corner 
of  Twenty-first  Street.  It  was  Sunday.  The 
123 


A  Street  Troubadour 


U IUI I 


street  was  very  quiet,  but  a  ring  of  perhaps  a 
dozen  people  were  standing  gazing  at  something 
in  the  gutter.  As  I  came  near  I  heard  occa- 
sional chirruping,  and  getting  a  view  into  the 
ring,  I  saw  two  Sparrows  locked  in  fierce  com- 
bat, chirruping  a  little,  but  hammering  and 
pecking  away  in  deadly  earnest.  They  scuffled 
around,  regardless  of  the  bystanders,  for  some 
time  ;  but  when  at  length  they  paused  for  breath, 
and  sat  back  on  their  tails  and  heels  to  gasp,  I 
was  quite  shocked  to  recognize  Biddy  and 
Randy.  After  another  round  they  were  shooed 
away  by  one  of  the  onlookers,  who  evidently 
disapproved  of  Sunday  brawling.  They  then 
flew  to  the  nearest  roof  to  go  on  as  before. 
That  afternoon  I  found  below  the  nest  not  only 
the  intrusive  marble,  but  also  the  remains  of  the 
five  eggs,  all  alike  thrown  out,  and  I  suspect  that 
the  presence  of  that  curious  hard  round  egg  in 
the  nest,  and  the  obvious  implication,  were  the 
cause  of  the  brawl. 

Whether  Biddy  had  been  able  to  explain  it 

or  not  I  do  not  know,  but  it  seemed  that,  the 

couple  decided  to  forget  the  past  and  begin 

again.     There  was  evidently  neither  luck  nor 

124 


A  Street  Troubadour 

peace  in  that  bird-box,  so  they  abandoned  it, 
feathers  and  all ;  and  Biddy,  whose  ideas  were 
distinctly  original,  selected  the  site  this  time, 
nothing  less  than  the  top  of  an  electric  lamp  in 
the  middle  of  Madison  Square.  All  week  they 
labored,  and  in  spite  of  a  high  wind  most  of 
the  time,  they  finished  the  nest.  It  is  hard  to 
see  how  the  Birds  could  sleep  at  night  with  that 
great  glaring  buzzing  light  under  their  noses. 
Still,  Biddy  seemed  pleased,  Randy  was  learn- 
ing to  suppress  his  own  opinion,  and  all  would 
have  gone  well  but  that  before  the  first  egg  was 
laid  the  carbon-points  of  the  light  burned  out, 
and  the  man  who  put  in  the  new  ones  thought 
proper  to  consign  remorselessly  the  whole  of  the 
Biddy-Randy  mansion  to  the  garbage-can.  A 
Robin  or  a  Swallow  might  have  felt  this  a  crush- 
ing blow,  but  there  is  no  limit  to  a  Sparrow's 
energy  and  hopefulness.  Evidently  it  was  the 
wrong  kind  of  a  nest.  Probably  the  material 
was  at  fault.  At  any  rate,  a  radical  change 
would  be  much  better.  After  embezzling  some 
long  straws  from  the  nest  of  an  absent  neigh- 
bor, Biddy  laid  them  in  the  high  fork  of  an  elm- 
tree  in  Madison  Square  Park,  by  way  of  letting 
"5 


A  Street  Troubadour 


Randy  know  that  this  was  the  place  now  se- 
lected ;  and  Randy,  having  learned  by  this  time 
that  it  was  less  trouble  to  accept  her  decision 
than  to  offer  an  opinion  of  his  own,  sang  a 
Canary  trill  on  two  chirps,  and  set  about  rum- 
maging in  the  garbage-heaps  for  choice  building- 
material,  winking  hard  and  looking  the  other 
way  when  a  nice  twig  presented  itself. 


ON  the  other  side  of  the  Square  was  the  nest  of 
a  pair  of  very  unpopular  Sparrows.  The  male 
bird  in  particular  had  made  himself  thoroughly 
disliked.  He  was  a  big,  handsome  fellow  with 
an  enormous  black  cravat,  but  an  out-and-out 
bully.  Might  is  right  in  Sparrow  world.  Their 
causes  for  quarrel  are  food,  mates,  quarters,  and 
nesting-material — pretty  much  as  with  our- 
selves. This  arrogant  little  Bird,  by  reason  of  his 
strength,  had  the  mate  of  his  choice  and  the  best 
nesting-site,  and  was  adding  to  it  all  the  most- 
admired  material  in  the  Square.  My  Sparrows 
had  avoided  the  gaudy  ribbons  I  offered.  They 
were  not  educated  up  to  that  pitch,  but  they 
126 


A  Street  Troubadour 

certainly  had  their  esthetic  preferences.  A  few 
Guinea-fowl  feathers  that  originally  came  from 
Central  Park  Menagerie  had  been  stolen  from 
one  nest  to  another,  till  now  they  rested  in  the 
sumptuous  home  with  which  Cravat  and  his 
wife  had  embellished  one  of  the  marble  capitals 
of  the  new  bank.  The  Bully  did  much  as  he 
pleased  in  the  Park,  and  one  day,  on  hearing 
Randy's  song,  flew  at  him.  Randy  had  been 
a  terror  among  Canaries,  but  against  Cravat  he 
had  but  little  chance.  He  did  his  best,  but 
was  defeated,  and  took  refuge  in  flight.  Puffed 
up  by  this  victory,  the  Bully  flew  to  Randy's 
new  nest,  and  after  a  more  or  less  scornful 
scrutiny  proceeded  to  drag  out  some  strings 
that  he  thought  he  might  use  at  home.  Randy 
had  been  worsted,  but  the  sight  of  this  pillage 
roused  the  doughty  Troubadour  again,  and  he 
flew  at  the  Bully  as  before.  From  the  branches 
they  tumbled  to  the  ground.  Other  Sparrows 
joined  in,  and,  shame  to  tell!  they  joined  with 
the  big  fellow  against  the  comparative  stranger. 
Randy  was  getting  very  roughly  handled,  fea- 
thers began  to  float  away,  when  into  the  ring 
flashed  a  little  Hen  Sparrow  with  white  wing- 
127 


A  Street  Troubadour 


feathers,  chirrup,  chirrup,  wallop,  wallop,  she 
went  into  it.  Oh,  how  she  did  lay  about  her! 
The  Sparrows  that  had  joined  in  for  fun  now 
went  off:  there  was  no  longer  any  fun  in  it, 
nothing  but  hard  pecks,  and  the  tables  were 
completely  turned  on  Cravat.  He  quickly 
lost  heart,  then,  and  fled  toward  his  own 
quarter  of  the  Square,  with  Biddy  holding  on 
to  his  tail  like  a  little  bulldog;  and  there  she 
continued  to  hang  till  the  feather  came  out  by 
the  roots,  and  she  afterward  had  the  satisfaction 
of  working  it  into  the  coarser  make-up  of  her 
nest  along  with  the  rescued  material.  It  is 
hardly  possible  that  Sparrows  have  refined  ideas 
of  justice  and  retribution,  but  it  is  sure  that 
things  which  look  like  it  do  crop  up  among 
them.  Within  two  days  the  Guinea-fowl  fea- 
thers that  had  so  long  been  the  chief  glory  of 
the  Cravat's  nest  now  formed  part  of  the  fur- 
nishing of  Biddy's  new  abode,  and  none  had 
the  temerity  to  dispute  her  claim. 

It  was  now  late  in  the  season,  feathers  were 

scarce,  and  Biddy  could  not  find  enough  for 

the  lining  that  she  was  so  particular  about.     But 

she  found  a  substitute  that  appealed  to  her  love 

128 


A  Street  Troubadour 

of  the  novel.  In  the  Square  was  the  cab-stand, 
and  scattering  near  were  usually  more  or  less 
horsehairs.  These  seemed  to  be  good  and 
original  linings.  A  most  happy  thought,  and 
with  appropriate  enthusiasm  the  ever-hopeful 
couple  set  about  gathering  horsehairs,  two  or 
three  at  a  time.  Possibly  the  nest  of  a  Chip- 
ping Sparrow  in  one  of  the  parks  gave  them 
the  idea.  The  Chippy  always  lines  with  horse- 
hair, and  gets  an  admirable  spring-mattress 
effect  by  curling  the  hair  round  and  round  the 
inside  of  the  nest.  The  result  is  good,  but  one 
must  know  how  to  get  it.  It  would  have  been 
well  had  the  Sparrows  learned  how  to  handle 
the  hair.  When  a  Chippy  picks  up  a  horsehair 
to  bring  home  it  takes  only  one  at  a  time,  and 
is  careful  to  lift  it  by  the  end,  for  the  harmless- 
looking  hair  is  not  without  its  dangers.  The 
Sparrows  had  no  notion  of  handling  it  except  as 
they  did  the  straw.  Biddy  seized  a  hair  near  the 
middle,  found  it  somewhat  long,  so  took  a  sec- 
ond hold,  several  inches  away.  In  most  cases 
this  made  a  great  loop  in  the  hair  over  her  head 
or  beyond  her  beak.  But  it  was  a  convenient 
way  to  manage,  and  at  first  no  mischief  came, 


A  Street  Troubadour 

though  Chippy,  had  she  seen,  might  well  have 
shuddered  at  the  idea  of  that  threatening  noose. 
It  was  the  last  day  of  the  lining.  Biddy 
had  in  some  way  given  Randy  to  understand 
that  no  more  hair  was  needed,  and,  proud  and 
bustling,  she  was  adding  a  few  finishing  touches 
and  a  final  hair  while  he  was  trying  some  new 
variations  of  his  finest  bars  on  top  of  Farragut's 
head,  when  a  loud  alarm  chirrup  from  Biddy 
caught  his  ear.  He  looked  toward  the  new 
home  to  see  her  struggling  up  and  down  with- 
out apparent  reason,  and  yet  unable  to  get  more 
than  her  length  away  from  the  nest.  She  had 
at  last  put  her  head  through  one  of  those  dan- 
gerous hair  nooses,  made  by  herself,  and  by 
mischance  had  tightened  and  twisted  it  so  that 
she  was  caught.  The  more  she  struggled  and 
twisted  the  tighter  became  the  noose.  Randy 
now  discovered  that  he  was  deeply  attached  to 
this  wilful  little  termagant.  He  became  greatly 
excited,  and  flew  about  chattering.  He  tried  to 
release  her  by  pulling  at  her  foot,  but  that  only 
made  matters  worse.  All  their  efforts  were  in 
vain.  Several  new  kinks  were  added  to  the 
hair.  Other  hairs  from  the  nest  seemed  to  join 
132 


A  Street  Troubadour 


in  the  plot,  and,  tangled  and  intermeshed,  they 
tightened  even  more,  till  the  group  of  wonder- 
ing, upturned  child  faces  in  the  Park  below 
were  centred  on  a  tousled  feathery  form  hang- 
ing still  and  silent  in  the  place  of  the  bustling, 
noisy,  energetic  Biddy  Sparrow. 

Poor  Randy  seemed  deeply  distressed.  The 
neighbor  Sparrows  had  come  at  the  danger-call 
note,  and  joined  their  cries  with  his,  but  had 
hot  been  able  to  help  the  victim.  Now  they 
went  off  to  their  ov/n  squabbles  and  troubles, 
and  Randy  hopped  about  chirping  or  sat  still 
with  drooping  wings.  It  was  long  before  he 
realized  that  she  was  dead,  and  all  that  day  he 
exerted  himself  to  interest  her  and  make  her 
join  in  their  usual  life.  At  night  he  rested 
alone  in  one  of  the  trees,  and  at  gray  dawn  was 
bustling  about,  singing  occasionally  and  chir- 
ruping around  the  nest,  from  whose  rim,  in  the 
fateful  horsehair,  hung  Biddy,  stiff  and  silent 
now. 

VI 

RANDY  had  never  been  an  alert  Sparrow.     His 

Canary  training  had  really  handicapped  him. 

133 


A  Street  Troubadour 


••  ^X=j 
^§n^l 

•*". -*     -    ^*      ^£^>  /It 


He  was  venturesome  and  heedless  with  carnages 
as  well  as  with  children.  This  peculiarity  was 
greatly  increased  by  his  present  preoccupation, 
and  while  foraging  somewhat  listlessly  on  Madi- 
son Avenue,  that  afternoon,  a  messenger-boy 
on  a  wheel  came  silently  up,  and  before  Randy 
realized  his  danger,  the  wheel  was  on  his  tail. 
As  he  struggled  to  get  away,  even  at  the  price 
of  his  tail,  his  right  wing  flashed  under  the 
hind  wheel,  and  then  he  was  crippled.  The  boy 
rode  on,  and  Randy  managed  to  flutter  and  hop 
away  toward  the  sheltering  trees.  A  little  girl, 
assisted  by  her  small  dog,  captured  the  cripple, 
after  an  exciting  chase  among  the  benches. 
She  took  him  home,  and  moved  by  what  her 
brothers  considered  sadly  misplaced  tenderness, 
she  caged  and  nursed  him.  When  he  began  to 
recover,  he  one  day  surprised  them  by  singing 
his  Canary  song. 

This  created  quite  a  stir  in  the  household. 
In  time  a  newspaper  reporter  heard  of  it.  The 
inevitable  write-up  followed,  and  this  met  the 
eye  of  the  Sixth  Avenue  barber.  He  came 
with  many  witnesses  to  claim  his  bird,  and  at 
length  his  claim  was  allowed. 
134 


A  Street  Troubadour 

So  Randy  is  once  more  in  a  cage,  carefully 
watched  and  fed,  the  central  figure  in  a  small 
world,  and  not  at  all  unhappy.  After  all,  he 
was  never  a  truly  wild  Bird.  It  was  an  acci- 
dent that  set  him  free  originally.  An  accident 
had  mated  him  with  Biddy.  Their  brief  life 
together  had  been  a  succession  of  storms  and 
accidents.  An  accident  had  taken  her  away, 
and  another  accident  had  renewed  his  cage  life. 
This  life,  comparatively  calm  and  uneventful, 
has  given  him  an  opportunity  to  cultivate  his 
musical  gifts,  for  he  is  in  a  very  conservatory  of 
music,  and  close  at  hand  are  his  old  tutors  and 
foster-parents. 

Sometimes  when  left  alone  he  amuses  himself 
by  beginning  a  rude  nest  of  sticks,  but  he  looks 
guilty,  and  leaves  that  corner  of  the  cage  when 
any  one  comes  near.  If  a  few  feathers  are 
given  him  they  are  worked  into  the  nest  at  first, 
but  next  morning  are  invariably  found  on  the 
floor  below.  These  persistent  attempts  at  nest- 
ing suggested  that  he  wanted  a  mate,  and  sev- 
eral were  furnished  on  approval,  but  the  result 
was  not  happy.  Prompt  interference  was 
needed  each  time  to  prevent  bloodshed  and  to 
'35 


A  Street  Troubadour 

rescue  the  intended  bride.  So  the  attempt  was 
given  up.  Evidently  this  Troubadour  wants 
no  new  lady-love.  His  songs  seem  to  be  rather 
of  war,  for  the  barber  has  discovered  that  when 
he  wishes  to  provoke  Randy  into  his  most 
rapturous  musical  expression  it  is  only  neces- 
sary to  let  him  demolish,  not  the  effigy  of  a 
Canary,  but  a  stuffed  Cock  Sparrow.  And  on 
these  occasions  Randy  develops  an  enthusiasm 
almost  amounting  to  inspiration  if  the  dummy 
have  a  very  well  marked  black  patch  on  the 
throat. 

This,  however,  is  mere  by-play.  All  his  best 
energies  are  devoted  to  song.  And  if  you 
stumble  on  the  right  barber-shop  you  may  see 
this  energetic  recluse,  forgetting  the  cares,  joys, 
and  sorrows  of  active  life  in  his  devotion  to 
music,  like  some  monk  who  has  tried  the  world, 
found  it  too  hard  for  him,  and  has  gladly  re- 
turned to  his  cell,  there  to  devote  the  rest  of  his 
days  to  purely  spiritual  pleasures. 


cinr; 


/-\ 

Biddy  and  Randy. 


^^Wv^W\^V\  ^W\^R 

^iNk^V^BR  -*HI-%BL 
/TTi  Ivr\  T^i    /^  7^\ 

Johnny  Bear 


Johnny  Bear 


OHNNY  was  a  queer  little  Bear 
cub  that  lived  with  Grumpy, 
his  mother,  in  the  Yellowstone 
Park.  They  were  among  the 
many  Bears  that  found  a  de- 
sirable home  in  the  country 
about  the  Fountain  Hotel. 

The  steward  of  the  Hotel  had  ordered  the 
kitchen  garbage  to  be  clumped  in  an  open  glade 
of  the  surrounding  forest,  thus  providing, 
throughout  the  season,  a  daily  feast  for  the 
Bears,  and  their  numbers  have  increased  each 
year  since  the  law  of  the  land  has  made  the 
Park  a  haven  of  refuge  where  no  wild  thing  may 
be  harmed.  They  have  accepted  man's  peace- 
141 


Johnny  Bear 

offering,  and  many  of  them  have  become  so 
well  known  to  the  Hotel  men  that  they  have 
received  names  suggested  by  their  looks  or 
ways.  Slim  Jim  was  a  very  long-legged  thin 
Blackbear ;  Snuffy  was  a  Blackbear  that  looked 
as  though  he  had  been  singed;  Fatty  was  a 
very  fat,  lazy  Bear  that  always  lay  down  to  eat ; 
the  Twins  were  two  half-grown,  ragged  speci- 
mens that  always  came  and  went  together.  But 
Grumpy  and  Little  Johnny  were  the  best  known 
of  them  all. 

Grumpy  was  the  biggest  and  fiercest  of  the 
Blackbears,  and  Johnny,  apparently  her  only 
son,  was  a  peculiarly  tiresome  little  cub,  for  he 
seemed  never  to  cease  either  grumbling  or 
whining.  This  probably  meant  that  he  was 
sick,  for  a  healthy  little  Bear  does  not  grumble 
all  the  time,  any  more  than  a  healthy  child. 
And  indeed  Johnny  looked  sick;  he  was  the 
most  miserable  specimen  in  the  Park.  His 
whole  appearance  suggested  dyspepsia;  and 
this  I  quite  understood  when  I  saw  the  awful 
mixtures  he  would  eat  at  that  garbage-heap. 
Anything  at  all  that  he  fancied  he  would  try. 
And  his  mother  allowed  him  to  do  as  he 
142 


His  Whole  Appearance  Suggested  Dyspepsia. 


Johnny  Bear 

pleased ;  so,  after  all,  it  was  chiefly  her  fault,  for 
she  should  not  have  permitted  such  things. 

Johnny  had  only  three  good  legs,  his  coat 
was  faded  and  mangy,  his  limbs  were  thin,  and 
his  ears  and  paunch  were  disproportionately 
large.  Yet  his  mother  thought  the  world  of 
him.  She  was  evidently  convinced  that  he  was 
a  little  beauty  and  the  Prince  of  all  Bears,  so,  of 
course,  she  quite  spoiled  him.  She  was  always 
ready  to  get  into  trouble  on  his  account,  and  he 
was  always  delighted  to  lead  her  there.  Al- 
though such  a  wretched  little  failure,  Johnny 
was  far  from  being  a  fool,  for  he  usually  knew 
just  what  he  wanted  and  how  to  get  it,  if  teas- 
ing his  mother  could  carry  the  point. 


II 


IT  was  in  the  summer  of  1897  that  I  made 
their  acquaintance.  I  was  in  the  Park  to  study 
the  home  life  of  the  animals,  and  had  been  told 
that  in  the  woods,  near  the  Fountain  Hotel,  I 
could  see  Bears  at  any  time,  which,  of  course,  I 
scarcely  believed.  But  on  stepping  out  of  the 
back  door  five  minutes  after  arriving,  I  came 


Johnny  Bear 

face  to  face  with  a  large  Blackbear  and  her  two 
cubs. 

I  stopped  short,  not  a  little  startled.  The 
Bears  also  stopped  and  sat  up  to  look  at  me. 
Then  Mother  Bear  made  a  curious  short 
Koff  Koff,  and  looked  toward  a  near  pine- 
tree.  The  cubs  seemed  to  know  what  she 
meant,  for  they  ran  to  this  tree  and  scrambled 
up  like  two  little  monkeys,  and  when  safely  aloft 
they  sat  like  small  boys,  holding  on  with  their 
hands,  while  their  little  black  legs  dangled  in 
the  air,  and  waited  to  see  what  was  to  happen 
down  below. 

The  Mother  Bear,  still  on  her  hind  legs,  came 
slowly  toward  me,  and  I  began  to  feel  very 
uncomfortable  indeed,  for  she  stood  about  six 
feet  high  in  her  stockings  and  had  apparently 
never  heard  of  the  magical  power  of  the  human 
eye. 

I  had  not  even  a  stick  to  defend  myself  with, 
and  when  she  gave  a  low  growl,  I  was  about  to 
retreat  to  the  Hotel,  although  previously  assured 
that  the  Bears  have  always  kept  their  truce  with 
man.  However,  just  at  this  turning-point  the 
old  one  stopped,  now  but  thirty  feet  away,  and 
146 


Johnny  Bear 

continued  to  survey  me  calmly.  She  seemed  in 
doubt  for  a  minute,  but  evidently  made  up  her 
mind  that,  "  although  that  human  thing  might 
be  all  right,  she  would  take  no  chances  for  her 
little  ones." 

She  looked  up  to  her  two  hopefuls,  and  gave 
a  peculiar  whining  Er-r-r  Er-r,  whereupon 
they,  like  obedient  children,  jumped,  as  at  the 
word  of  command.  There  was  nothing  about 
them  heavy  or  bear-like  as  commonly  under- 
stood ;  lightly  they  swung  from  bough  to  bough 
till  they  dropped  to  the  ground,  and  all  went  off 
together  into  the  woods.  I  was  much  tickled 
by  the  prompt  obedience  of  the  little  Bears. 
As  soon  as  their  mother  told  them  to  do  some- 
thing they  did  it.  They  did  not  even  offer  a 
suggestion.  But  I  also  found  out  that  there 
was  a  good  reason  for  it,  for  had  they  not 
done  as  she  had  told  them  they  would  have 
got  such  a  spanking  as  would  have  made  them 
howl. 

This  was  a  delightful  peep  into  Bear  home 
life,  and  would  have  been  well  worth  coming 
for,  if  the  insight  had  ended  there.  But  my 
friends  in  the  Hotel  said  that  that  was  not  the 


Johnny  Bear 

best  place  for  Bears.  I  should  go  to  the  gar- 
bage-heap, a  quarter-mile  off  in  the  forest. 
There,  they  said,  I  surely  could  see  as  many 
Bears  as  I  wished  (which  was  absurd  of  them). 

Early  the  next  morning  I  went  to  this  Bears' 
Banqueting  Hall  in  the  pines,  and  hid  in  the 
nearest  bushes. 

Before  very  long  a  large  Blackbear  came 
quietly  out  of  the  woods  to  the  pile,  and  began 
turning  over  the  garbage  and  feeding.  He  was 
very  nervous,  sitting  up  and  looking  about  at 
each  slight  sound,  or  running  away  a  few  yards 
when  startled  by  some  trifle.  At  length  he 
cocked  his  ears  and  galloped  off  into  the  pines, 
as  another  Blackbear  appeared.  He  also  be- 
haved in  the  same  timid  manner,  and  at  last  ran 
away  when  I  shook  the  bushes  in  trying  to  get 
a  better  view. 

At  the  outset  I  myself  had  been  very  ner- 
vous, for  of  course  no  man  is  allowed  to  carry 
weapons  in  the  Park ;  but  the  timidity  of  these 
Bears  reassured  me,  and  thenceforth  I  forgot 
everything  in  the  interest  of  seeing  the  great, 
shaggy  creatures  in  their  home  life. 

Soon  I  realized  I  could  not  get  the  close  in- 
148 


€1    " 


Johnny  Bear 

sight  I  wished  from  that  bush,  as  it  was  seventy- 
five  yards  from  the  garbage-pile.  There  was 
none  nearer ;  so  I  did  the  only  thing  left  to  do  : 
I  went  to  the  garbage-pile  itself,  and,  digging  a 
hole  big  enough  to  hide  in,  remained  there  all 
day  long,  with  cabbage-stalks,  old  potato-peel- 
ings, tomato-cans,  and  carrion  piled  up  in  odor- 
ous heaps  around  me.  Notwithstanding  the 
opinions  of  countless  flies,  it  was  not  an  attrac- 
tive place.  Indeed,  it  was  so  unfragrant  that 
at  night,  when  I  returned  to  the  Hotel,  I  was 
not  allowed  to  come  in  until  after  I  had 
changed  my  clothes  in  the  woods. 

It  had  been  a  trying  ordeal,  but  I  surely  did 
see  Bears  that  day.  If  I  may  reckon  it  a  new 
Bear  each  time  one  came,  I  must  have  seen 
over  forty.  But  of  course  it  was  not,  for  the 
Bears  were  coming  and  going.  And  yet  I  am 
certain  of  this  :  there  were  at  least  thirteen 
Bears,  for  I  had  thirteen  about  me  at  one  time. 

All  that  day  I  used  my  sketch-book  and 
journal.  Every  Bear  that  came  was  duly  noted ; 
and  this  process  soon  began  to  give  the  desired 
insight  into  their  ways  and  personalities. 

Many  unobservant  persons  think  and  say  that 
149 


Johnny  Bear 

all  Negroes,  or  all  Chinamen,  as  well  as  all  ani- 
mals of  a  kind,  look  alike.  But  just  as  surely 
as  each  human  being  differs  from  the  next,  so 
surely  each  animal  is  different  from  its  fellow ; 
otherwise  how  would  the  old  ones  know  their 
mates  or  the  little  ones  their  mother,  as  they 
certainly  do?  These  feasting  Bears  gave  a 
good  illustration  of  this,  for  each  had  its  indi- 
viduality ;  no  two  were  quite  alike  in  appear- 
ance or  in  character. 

This  curious  fact  also  appeared  :  I  could  hear 
the  Woodpeckers  pecking  over  one  hundred 
yards  away  in  the  woods,  as  well  as  the  Chicka- 
dees chickadeeing,  the  Blue-jays  blue-jaying, 
and  even  the  Squirrels  scampering  across  the 
leafy  forest  floor ;  and  yet  I  did  not  hear  one  of 
these  Bears  come.  Their  huge,  padded  feet 
always  went  down  in  exactly  the  right  spot  to 
break  no  stick,  to  rustle  no  leaf,  showing  how 
perfectly  they  had  learned  the  art  of  going  in 
silence  through  the  woods. 


Ill 


ALL  morning   the    Bears   came  and  went  or 
wandered   near  my  hiding-place  without  dis- 


Johnny  Bear 

covering  me;  and,  except  for  one  or  two  brief 
quarrels,  there  was  nothing  very  exciting  to  note. 
But  about  three  in  the  afternoon  it  became 
more  lively. 

There  were  then  four  large  Bears  feeding  on 
the  heap.  In  the  middle  was  Fatty,  sprawling 
at  full  length  as  he  feasted,  a  picture  of  placid 
ursine  content,  puffing  just  a  little  at  times  as 
he  strove  to  save  himself  the  trouble  of  moving 
by  darting  out  his  tongue  like  a  long  red  ser- 
pent, farther  and  farther,  in  quest  of  the  tidbits 
just  beyond  claw  reach. 

Behind  him  Slim  Jim  was  puzzling  over  the 
anatomy  and  attributes  of  an  ancient  lobster. 
It  was  something  outside  his  experience,  but 
the  principle,  "  In  case  of  doubt  take  the  trick," 
is  well  known  in  Bearland,  and  settled  the 
difficulty. 

The  other  two  were  clearing  out  fruit-tins 
with  marvellous  dexterity.  One  supple  paw 
would  hold  the  tin  while  the  long  tongue  would 
dart  again  and  again  through  the  narrow  open- 
ing, avoiding  the  sharp  edges,  yet  cleaning  out 
the  can  to  the  last  taste  of  its  sweetness. 

This  pastoral  scene  lasted  long  enough  to  be 
sketched,  but  was  ended  abruptly.  My  eye 


Johnny  Bear 

caught  a  movement  on  the  hilltop  whence  all 
the  Bears  had  come,  and  out  stalked  a  very 
large  Blackbear  with  a  tiny  cub.  It  was 
Grumpy  and  Little  Johnny. 

The  old  Bear  stalked  down  the  slope  toward 
the  feast,  and  Johnny  hitched  alongside,  grum- 
bling as  he  came,  his  mother  watching  him  as 
solicitously  as  ever  a  hen  did  her  single  chick. 
When  they  were  within  thirty  yards  of  the  gar- 
bage-heap, Grumpy  turned  to  her  son  and  said 
something  which,  judging  from  its  effect,  must 
have  meant :  "  Johnny,  my  child,  I  think  you 
had  better  stay  here  while  I  go  and  chase  those 
fellows  away." 

Johnny  obediently  waited ;  but  he  wanted  to 
see,  so  he  sat  up  on  his  hind  legs  with  eyes 
agog  and  ears  acock. 

Grumpy  came  striding  along  with  dignity, 
uttering  warning  growls  as  she  approached  the 
four  Bears.  They  were  too  much  engrossed  to 
pay  any  heed  to  the  fact  that  yet  another  one 
of  them  was  coming,  till  Grumpy,  now  within 
fifteen  feet,  let  out  a  succession  of  loud  cough- 
ing sounds,  and  charged  into  them.  Strange  to 
say,  they  did  not  pretend  to  face  her,  but,  as 


Old  Grumpy  Stalked  Down  the  Slope,  and 
Johnny  Hitched  Alongside. 


But  Johnny  Wanted  to  See. 


Johnny  Bear 

soon  as  they  saw  who  it  was,  scattered  and  all 
fled  for  the  woods. 

Slim  Jim  could  safely  trust  his  heels,  and  the 
other  two  were  not  far  behind ;  but  poor  Fatty, 
puffing  hard  and  waddling  like  any  other  very 
fat  creature,  got  along  but  slowly,  and,  unluck- 
ily for  him,  he  fled  in  the  direction  of  Johnny, 
so  that  Grumpy  overtook  him  in  a  few  bounds 
and  gave  him  a  couple  of  sound  slaps  in  the 
rear  which,  if  they  did  not  accelerate  his  pace,  at 
least  made  him  bawl,  and  saved  him  by  chang- 
ing his  direction.  Grumpy,  now  left  alone  in 
possession  of  the  feast,  turned  toward  her  son 
and  uttered  the  whining  Er-r-r  Er-r-r  Er-r-r-r. 
Johnny  responded  eagerly.  He  came  "  hopity- 
hop  "  on  his  three  good  legs  as  fast  as  he  could, 
and,  joining  her  on  the  garbage,  they  began  to 
have  such  a  good  time  that  Johnny  actually 
ceased  grumbling. 

He  had  evidently  been  there  before  now,  for 
he  seemed  to  know  quite  well  the  staple  kinds 
of  canned  goods.  One  might  almost  have  sup- 
posed that  he  had  learned  the  brands,  for  a 
lobster-tin  had  no  charm  for  him  as  long  as  he 
could  find  those  that  once  were  filled  with  jam. 
157 


Johnny  Bear 

Some  of  the  tins  gave  him  much  trouble,  as  he 
was  too  greedy  or  too  clumsy  to  escape  being 
scratched  by  the  sharp  edges.  One  seductive 
fruit-tin  had  a  hole  so  large  that  he  found  he  could 
force  his  head  into  it,  and  for  a  few  minutes  his 
joy  was  full  as  he  licked  into  all  the  farthest 
corners.  But  when  he  tried  to  draw  his  head 
out,  his  sorrows  began,  for  he  found  himself 
caught.  He  could  not  get  out,  and  he  scratched 
and  screamed  like  any  other  spoiled  child,  giv- 
ing his  mother  no  end  of  concern,  although  she 
seemed  not  to  know  how  to  help  him.  When 
at  length  he  got  the  tin  off  his  head,  he  re- 
venged himself  by  hammering  it  with  his  paws 
till  it  was  perfectly  flat. 

A  large  sirup-can  made  him  happy  for  a 
long  time.  It  had  had  a  lid,  so  that  the  hole 
was  round  and  smooth;  but  it  was  not  big 
enough  to  admit  his  head,  and  he  could  not 
touch  its  riches  with  his  tongue  stretched  out 
its  longest.  He  soon  hit  on  a  plan,  however. 
Putting  in  his  little  black  arm,  he  churned  it 
around,  then  drew  out  and  licked  it  clean ;  and 
while  he  licked  one  he  got  the  other  one  ready ; 
and  he  did  this  again  and  again,  until  the  can 
158 


A  Sirup-tin  Kept  Him  Happy  for  a  Long  Time. 


Johnny  Bear 

was  as  clean  inside  as  when  first  it  had  left  the 
factory. 

A  broken  mouse-trap  seemed  to  puzzle  him. 
He  clutched  it  between  his  fore  paws,  their 
strong  inturn  being  sympathetically  reflected  in 
his  hind  feet,  and  held  it  firmly  for  study.  The 
cheesy  smell  about  it  was  decidedly  good,  but 
the  thing  responded  in  such  an  uncanny  way, 
when  he  slapped  it,  that  he  kept  back  a  cry  for 
help  only  by  the  exercise  of  unusual  self-con- 
trol. After  gravely  inspecting  it,  with  his  head 
first  on  this  side  and  then  on  that,  and  his  lips 
puckered  into  a  little  tube,  he  submitted  it  to 
the  same  punishment  as  that  meted  out  to  the 
refractory  fruit-tin,  and  was  rewarded  by  dis- 
covering a  nice  little  bit  of  cheese  in  the  very 
heart  of  the  culprit. 

Johnny  had  evidently  never  heard  of  pto- 
maine-poisoning, for  nothing  came  amiss.  After 
the  jams  and  fruits  gave  out  he  turned  his  at- 
tention to  the  lobster-  and  sardine-cans,  and 
was  not  appalled  by  even  the  army  beef.  His 
paunch  grew  quite  balloon-like,  and  from  much 
licking  his  arms  looked  thin  and  shiny,  as 
though  he  was  wearing  black  silk  gloves. 
161 


IT  occurred  to  me  that  I  might  now  be  in  a 
really  dangerous  place.  For  it  is  one  thing 
surprising  a  Bear  that  has  no  family  responsi- 
bilities, and  another  stirring  up  a  bad-tempered 
old  mother  by  frightening  her  cub. 

"  Supposing,"  I  thought,  "  that  cranky  Little 
Johnny  should  wander  over  to  this  end  of  the 
garbage  and  find  me  in  the  hole  ;  he  will  at  once 
set  up  a  squall,  and  his  mother,  of  course,  will 
v   V  think  I  am  hurting  him,  and,  without  giving  me 

^  I  ^  a  cnance  to  explam>  may  forget  the  rules  of  the 

\/  Park  and  make  things  very  unpleasant." 

*     i  Luckily,  all  the  jam-pots  were  at  Johnny's 

\  {  s   ^m  end ;   he  stayed  by  them,  and  Grumpy  stayed 

,    V^'l%  I,  ^  by  him.     At  length  he  noticed  that  his  mother 

had  a  better  tin  than  any  he  could  find,  and  as 
he  ran  whining  to  take  it  from  her  he  chanced 
to  glance  away  up  the  slope.  There  he  saw 
something  that  made  him  sit  up  and  utter  a 
curious  little  Koff  Koff  Koff  Koff. 

His  mother  turned  quickly,  and  sat  up  to  see 
"  what  the  child  was  looking  at."     I  followed 
their   gaze,  and   there,    oh,  horrors!    was   an 
162 


Johnny  Got  Behind  his  Mother. 


Johnny  Bear 

enormous  Grizzly  Bear.  He  was  a  monster ;  he 
looked  like  a  fur-clad  omnibus  coming  through 
the  trees. 

Johnny  set  up  a  whine  at  once  and  got  be- 
hind his  mother.  She  uttered  a  deep  growl, 
and  all  her  back  hair  stood  on  end.  Mine  did 
too,  but  I  kept  as  still  as  possible. 

With  stately  tread  the  Grizzly  came  on.  His 
vast  shoulders  sliding  along  his  sides,  and  his 
silvery  robe  swaying  at  each  tread,  like  the 
trappings  on  an  elephant,  gave  an  impression 
of  power  that  was  appalling. 

Johnny  began  to  whine  more  loudly,  and  I 
fully  sympathized  with  him  now,  though  I  did 
not  join  in.  After  a  moment's  hesitation 
Grumpy  turned  to  her  noisy  cub  and  said  some- 
thing that  sounded  to  me  like  two  or  three 
short  coughs— Koff  Koff  Koff.  But  I  ima- 
gine that  she  really  said :  "  My  child,  I  think 
you  had  better  get  up  that  tree,  while  I  go  and 
drive  the  brute  away." 

At  any  rate,  that  was  what  Johnny  did,  and 

this  what  she  set  out  to  do.     But  Johnny  had 

no  notion  of  missing  any  fun.     He  wanted  to 

see  what  was  going  to  happen.     So  he  did  not 

165 


Johnny  Bear 

rest  contented  where  he  was  hidden  in  the  thick 
branches  of  the  pine,  but  combined  safety  with 
view  by  climbing  to  the  topmost  branch  that 
would  bear  him,  and  there,  sharp  against  the 
sky,  he  squirmed  about  and  squealed  aloud  in 
his  excitement.  The  branch  was  so  small  that 
it  bent  under  his  weight,  swaying  this  way  and 
that  as  he  shifted  about,  and  every  moment  I 
expected  to  see  it  snap  off.  If  it  had  been 
broken  when  swaying  my  way,  Johnny  would 
certainly  have  fallen  on  me,  and  this  would 
probably  have  resulted  in  bad  feelings  between 
myself  and  his  mother;  but  the  limb  was 
tougher  than  it  looked,  or  perhaps  Johnny  had 
had  plenty  of  experience,  for  he  neither  lost  his 
hold  nor  broke  the  branch. 

Meanwhile,  Grumpy  stalked  out  to  meet  the 
Grizzly.  She  stood  as  high  as  she  could  and 
set  all  her  bristles  on  end ;  then,  growling  and 
chopping  her  teeth,  she  faced  him. 

The  Grizzly,  so  far  as  I  could  see,  took  no 
notice  of  her.  He  came  striding  toward  the 
feast  as  though  alone.  But  when  Grumpy  got 
within  twelve  feet  of  him  she  uttered  a  succes- 
sion of  short,  coughy  roars,  and,  charging,  gave 
166 


Then  They  Clinched. 


Johnny  Bear 

him  a  tremendous  blow  on  the  ear.  The 
Grizzly  was  surprised ;  but  he  replied  with  a 
left-hander  that  knocked  her  over  like  a  sack 
of  hay. 

Nothing  daunted,  but  doubly  furious,  she 
jumped  up  and  rushed  at  him. 

Then  they  clinched  and  rolled  over  and  over, 
whacking  and  pounding,  snorting  and  growling, 
and  making  no  end  of  dust  and  rumpus.  But 
above  all  their  noise  I  could  clearly  hear  Little 
Johnny,  yelling  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  and 
evidently  encouraging  his  mother  to  go  right  in 
and  finish  the  Grizzly  at  once. 

Why  the  Grizzly  did  not  break  her  in  two  I 
could  not  understand.  After  a  few  minutes' 
struggle,  during  which  I  could  see  nothing  but 
dust  and  dim  flying  legs,  the  two  separated  as 
by  mutual  consent, — perhaps  the  regulation  time 
was  up, — and  for  a  while  they  stood  glaring  at 
each  other,  Grumpy  at  least  much  winded. 

The  Grizzly  would  have  dropped  the  matter 
right  there.  He  did  not  wish  to  fight.  He 
had  no  idea  of  troubling  himself  about  Johnny. 
All  he  wanted  was  a  quiet  meal.  But  no! 
The  moment  he  took  one  step  toward  the  gar- 
169 


Johnny  Bear 


bage-pile,  that  is,  as  Grumpy  thought,  toward 
Johnny,  she  went  at  him  again.  But  this  time 
the  Grizzly  was  ready  for  her.  With  one  blow 
he  knocked  her  off  her  feet  and  sent  her  crash- 
ing on  to  a  huge  upturned  pine-root.  She  was 
fairly  staggered  this  time.  The  force  of  the 
blow,  and  the  rude  reception  of  the  rooty  antlers, 
seemed  to  take  all  the  fight  out  of  her.  She 
scrambled  over  and  tried  to  escape.  But  the 
Grizzly  was  mad  now.  He  meant  to  punish 
her,  and  dashed  around  the  root.  For  a  minute 
they  kept  up  a  dodging  chase  about  it;  but 
Grumpy  was  quicker  of  foot,  and  somehow  al- 
ways managed  to  keep  the  root  between  herself 
and  her  foe,  while  Johnny,  safe  in  the  tree, 
continued  to  take  an  intense  and  uproarious 
interest. 

At  length,  seeing  he  could  not  catch  her  that 
way,  the  Grizzly  sat  up  on  his  haunches;  and 
while  he  doubtless  was  planning  a  new  move, 
old  Grumpy  saw  her  chance,  and  making  a 
dash,  got  away  from  the  root  and  up  to  the  top 
of  the  tree  where  Johnny  was  perched. 

Johnny  came  down  a  little  way  to  meet  her, 
or  perhaps  so  that  the  tree  might  not  break  off 
170 


<\  Wr 
^ 


„  V  . 

Johnny  Bear 

with  the  additional  weight.  Having  photo- 
graphed this  interesting  group  from  my  hiding-  .  (S 
place,  I  thought  I  must  get  a  closer  picture  at 
any  price,  and  for  the  first  time  in  the  day's  pro- 
ceedings I  jumped  out  of  the  hole  and  ran  under 
the  tree.  This  move  proved  a  great  mistake,  for 
here  the  thick  lower  boughs  came  between,  and 
I  could  see  nothing  at  all  of  the  Bears  at  the  top. 

I  was  close  to  the  trunk,  and  was  peering 
about  and  seeking  for  a  chance  to  use  the 
camera,  when  old  Grumpy  began  to  come  down, 
chopping  her  teeth  and  uttering  her  threatening 
cough  at  me.  While  I  stood  in  doubt,  I  heard 
a  voice  far  behind  me  calling : 

"  Say,  Mister !  You  better  look  out ;  that  ole 
B'ar  is  liable  to  hurt  you." 

I  turned  to  see  the  cow-boy  of  the  Hotel  on 
his  Horse.  He  had  been  riding  after  the  cattle, 
and  chanced  to  pass  near  just  as  events  were 
moving  quickly. 

"  Do  you  know  these  Bears?  "  said  I,  as  he 
rode  up. 

"  Wall,  I  reckon  I  do,"  said  he.     "  That  there 
little  one  up  top  is  Johnny ;  he's  a  little  crank. 
An'  the  big  un  is  Grumpy ;  she's  a  big  crank. 
171 


V  rlV.  Johnny  Bear 

V       fj  i 

>  v--f  "3  She's  mighty  onreliable  gen'relly,  but  she's  al- 

i  V^r;  '•  ways  strictly  ugly  when  Johnny  hollers  like  that." 

^  I  "I  should  much  like  to  get  her  picture  when 

*  f*  she  comes  down,"  said  I. 

"Tell  ye  what  I'll  do:  I'll  stay  by  on  the 
pony,  an'  if  she  goes  to  bother  you  I  reckon  I 
can  keep  her  off,"  said  the  man. 

He  accordingly  stood  by  as  Grumpy  slowly 
came  down  from  branch  to  branch,  growling 
and  threatening.  But  when  she  neared  the 
ground  she  kept  on  the  far  side  of  the  trunk, 
and  finally  slipped  down  and  ran  into  the  woods, 
without  the  slightest  pretence  of  carrying  out 
any  of  her  dreadful  threats.  Thus  Johnny  was 
again  left  alone.  He  climbed  up  to  his  old 
perch  and  resumed  his  monotonous  whining: 

Wah!  Wah!  Wah!  ("Oh,  dear!  Oh,  dear! 
Oh,  dear!") 

I  got  the  camera  ready,  and  was  arranging  de- 
liberately to  take  his  picture  in  his  favorite  and 
peculiar  attitude  for  threnodic  song,  when  all  at 
once  he  began  craning  his  neck  and  yelling,  as 
he  had  done  during  the  fight. 

I  looked  where  his  nose  pointed,  and  here 
was  the  Grizzly  coming  on  straight  toward  me 
172 


Johnny  Bear 

— not  charging,  but  striding  along,  as  though 
he  meant  to  come  the  whole  distance. 

I  said  to  my  cow-boy  friend :  "  Do  you  know 
this  Bear?  " 

He  replied :  "  Wall!  I  reckon  I  do.  That's 
the  ole  Grizzly.  He's  the  biggest  B'ar  in  the 
Park.  He  gen'relly  minds  his  own  business, 
but  he  ain't  scared  o'  nothin' ;  an'  to-day,  ye 
see,  he's  been  scrappin',  so  he's  liable  to  be 
ugly.'? 

"  I  would  like  to  take  his  picture,"  said  I ; 
"  and  if  you  will  help  me,  I  am  willing  to  take 
some  chances  on  it." 

"  All  right,"  said  he,  with  a  grin.  "  I'll  stand 
by  on  the  Horse,  an'  if  he  charges  you  I'll  charge 
him ;  an'  I  kin  knock  him  down  once,  but  I 
can't  do  it  twice.  You  better  have  your  tree 
picked  out." 

As  there  was  only  one  tree  to  pick  out,  and  that 
was  the  one  that  Johnny  was  in,  the  prospect 
was  not  alluring.  I  imagined  myself  scrambling 
up  there  next  to  Johnny,  and  then  Johnny's 
mother  coming  up  after  me,  with  the  Grizzly 
below  to  catch  me  when  Grumpy  should  throw 
me  down. 

173 


Johnny  Bear 

The  Grizzly  came  on?  and  I  snapped  him  at 
forty  yards,  then  again  at  twenty  yards;  and 
still  he  came  quietly  toward  me.  I  sat  down 
on  the  garbage  and  made  ready.  Eighteen 
yards — sixteen  yards — twelve  yards — eight 
yards,  and  still  he  came,  while  the  pitch  of 
Johnny's  protests  kept  rising  proportionately. 
Finally  at  five  yards  he  stopped,  and  swung  his 
huge  bearded  head  to  one  side,  to  see  what  was 
making  that  aggravating  row  in  the  tree-top, 
giving  me  a  profile  view,  and  I  snapped  the 
camera.  At  the  click  he  turned  on  me  with  a 
thunderous 

G— R-O-W-L! 

and  I  sat  still  and  trembling,  wondering  if  my 
last  moment  had  come.  For  a  second  he  glared 
at  me,  and  I  could  note  the  little  green  electric 
lamp  in  each  of  his  eyes.  Then  he  slowly 
turned  and  picked  up— a  large  tomato-can. 

"Goodness!"  I  thought,  "is  he  going  to 
throw  that  at  me?  "  But  he  deliberately  licked 
it  out,  dropped  it,"  and  took  another,  paying 
thenceforth  no  heed  whatever  either  to  me  or  to 
Johnny,  evidently  considering  us  equally  be- 
neath his  notice. 


Johnny  Bear 

I  backed  slowly  and  respectfully  out  of  his 
royal  presence,  leaving  him  in  possession  of  the 
garbage,  while  Johnny  kept  on  caterwauling 
from  his  safety-perch. 

What  became  of  Grumpy  the  rest  of  that  day 
I  do  not  know.  Johnny,  after  bewailing  for  a 
time,  realized  that  there  was  no  sympathetic 
hearer  of  his  cries,  and  therefore  very  saga- 
ciously stopped  them.  Having  no  mother  now 
to  plan  for  him,  he  began  to  plan  for  himself, 
and  at  once  proved  that  he  was  better  stuff  than 
he  seemed.  After  watching,  with  a  look  of  pro- 
found  cunning  on  his  little  black  face,  and 
waiting  till  the  Grizzly  was  some  distance  away, 
he  silently  slipped  down  behind  the  trunk,  and, 
despite  his  three-leggedness,  ran  like  a  hare  to 
the  next  tree,  never  stopping  to  breathe  till  he 
was  on  its  topmost  bough.  For  he  was  thor- 
oughly convinced  that  the  only  object  that  the 
Grizzly  had  in  life  was  to  kill  him,  and  he 
seemed  quite  aware  that  his  enemy  could  not 
climb  a  tree. 

Another  long  and  safe  survey  of  the  Grizzly, 
who  really  paid  no  heed  to  him  whatever,  was 
followed  by  another  dash  for  the  next  tree, 
US 


Johnny  Bear 


varied  occasionally  by  a  cunning  feint  to  mis- 
lead the  foe.  So  he  went  dashing  from  tree  to 
tree  and  climbing  each  to  its  very  top,  although 
it  might  be  but  ten  feet  from  the  last,  till 
he  disappeared  in  the  woods.  After,  perhaps, 
ten  minutes,  his  voice  again  came  floating 
on  the  breeze,  the  habitual  querulous  whin- 
ing which  told  me  he  had  found  his  mother 
and  had  resumed  his  customary  appeal  to  her 
sympathy. 

VI 

IT  is  quite  a  common  thing  for  Bears  to  spank 
their  cubs  when  they  need  it,  and  if  Grumpy 
had  disciplined  Johnny  this  way,  it  would  have 
saved  them  both  a  deal  of  worry. 

Perhaps  not  a  day  passed,  that  summer,  with- 
out Grumpy  getting  into  trouble  on  Johnny's 
account.  But  of  all  these  numerous  occasions 
the  most  ignominious  was  shortly  after  the  af- 
fair with  the  Grizzly. 

I  first  heard  the  story  from  three  bronzed 

mountaineers.     As    they   were   very    sensitive 

about  having  their  word   doubted,  and   very 

good  shots  with  the  revolver,  I  believed  every 

176 


Johnny  Bear 

word  they  told  me,  especially  when  afterward 
fully  indorsed  by  the  Park  authorities. 

It  seemed  that  of  all  the  tinned  goods  on  the 
pile  the  nearest  to  Johnny's  taste  were  marked 
with  a  large  purple  plum.  This  conclusion  he 
had  arrived  at  only  after  most  exhaustive  study. 
The  very  odor  of  those  plums  in  Johnny's  nos- 
trils was  the  equivalent  of  ecstasy.  So  when 
it  came  about  one  day  that  the  cook  of  the 
Hotel  baked  a  huge  batch  of  plum-tarts,  the 
telltale  wind  took  the  story  afar  into  the  woods, 
where  it  was  wafted  by  way  of  Johnny's  nostrils 
to  his  very  soul. 

Of  course  Johnny  was  whimpering  at  the 
time.  His  mother  was  busy  "  washing  his  face 
and  combing  his  hair,"  so  he  had  double  cause 
for  whimpering.  But  the  smell  of  the  tarts 
thrilled  him ;  he  jumped  up,  and  when  his 
mother  tried  to  hold  him  he  squalled,  and  I  arn 
afraid — he  bit  her.  She  should  have  cuffed  him, 
but  she  did  not.  She  only  gave  a  disapproving 
growl,  and  followed  to  see  that  he  came  to  no 
harm. 

With  his  little  black  nose  in  the  wind,  Johnny 
led  straight  for  the  kitchen.  He  took  the 
177 


Johnny  Bear 


precaution,  however,  of  climbing  from  time  to 
time  to  the  very  top  of  a  pine-tree  lookout 
to  take  an  observation,  while  Grumpy  stayed 
below. 

Thus  they  came  close  to  the  kitchen,  and 
there,  in  the  last  tree,  Johnny's  courage  as  a 
leader  gave  out,  so  he  remained  aloft  and  ex- 
pressed his  hankering  for  tarts  in  a  woe-begone 
wail. 

It  is  not  likely  that  Grumpy  knew  exactly 
what  her  son  was  crying  for.  But  it  is  sure  that 
as  soon  as  she  showed  an  inclination  to  go  back 
into  the  pines,  Johnny  protested  in  such  an 
outrageous  and  heartrending  screeching  that 
his  mother  simply  could  not  leave  him,  and  he 
showed  no  sign  of  coming  down  to  be  led  away. 

Grumpy  herself  was  fond  of  plum-jam.  The 
odor  was  now,  of  course,  very  strong  and  pro- 
portionately alluring;  so  Grumpy  followed  it 
somewhat  cautiously  up  to  the  kitchen  door. 

There  was  nothing  surprising  about  this. 
The  rule  of  "  live  and  let  live  "  is  so  strictly  en- 
forced in  the  Park  that  the  Bears  often  come  to 
the  kitchen  door  for  pickings,  and  on  getting 
something,  they  go  quietly  back  to  the  woods. 
178 


Johnny  Bear 


Doubtless  Johnny  and  Grumpy  would  each 
have  gotten  their  tart  but  that  a  new  factor 
appeared  in  the  case. 

That  week  the  Hotel  people  had  brought  anew 
Cat  from  the  East.  She  was  not  much  more  than 
a  kitten,  but  still  had  a  litter  of  her  own,  and 
at  the  moment  that  Grumpy  reached  the  door, 
the  Cat  and  her  family  were  sunning  themselves 
on  the  top  step.  Pussy  opened  her  eyes  to  see 
this  huge,  shaggy  monster  towering  above  her. 

The  Cat  had  never  before  seen  a  Bear— she 
had  not  been  there  long  enough;  she  did  not 
know  even  what  a  Bear  was.  She  knew  what 
a  Dog  was,  and  here  was  a  bigger,  more  awful 
bobtailed  black  dog  than  ever  she  had  dreamed 
of  coming  right  at  her.  Her  first  thought  was 
to  fly  for  her  life.  But  her  next  was  for  the 
kittens.  She  must  take  care  of  them.  She 
must  at  least  cover  their  retreat.  So,  like  a 
brave  little  mother,  she  braced  herself  on  that 
door-step,  and  spreading  her  back,  her  claws, 
her  tail,  and  everything  she  had  to  spread, 
she  screamed  out  at  that  Bear  an  unmistak- 
able order  to 

STOP! 
179 


'/* 


Johnny  Bear 

The  language  must  have  been  "  Cat,"  but 
the  meaning  was  clear  to  the  Bear;  for  those 
who  saw  it  maintain  stoutly  that  Grumpy  not 
only  stopped,  but  she  also  conformed  to  the 
custom  of  the  country  and  in  token  of  surrender 
held  up  her  hands. 

However,  the  position  she  thus  took  made 
her  so  high  that  the  Cat  seemed  tiny  in  the  dis- 
tance below.  Old  Grumpy  had  faced  a  Grizzly 
once,  and  was  she  now  to  be  held  up  by  a 
miserable  little  spike-tailed  skunk  no  bigger  than 
a  mouthful?  She  was  ashamed  of  herself, 
especially  when  a  wail  from  Johnny  smote  on 
her  ear  and  reminded  her  of  her  plain  duty,  as 
well  as  supplied  his  usual  moral  support. 

So  she  dropped  down  on  her  front  feet  to 
proceed. 

Again  the  Cat  shrieked,  "STOP!" 

But  Grumpy  ignored  the  command.  A 
scared  mew  from  a  kitten  nerved  the  Cat,  and 
she  launched  her  ultimatum,  which  ultimatum 
was  herself.  Eighteen  sharp  claws,  a  mouthful 
of  keen  teeth,  had  Pussy,  and  she  worked  them 
all  with  a  desperate  will  when  she  landed  on 
Grumpy 's  bare,  bald,  sensitive  nose,  just  the 
180 


Stop  !  "  Shrieked  the  Cat. 


Johnny  Bear 

spot  of  all  where  the  Bear  could  not  stand  it, 
and  then  worked  backward  to  a  point  outside 
the  sweep  of  Grumpy's  claws.  After  one  or 
two  vain  attempts  to  shake  the  spotted  fury  off, 
old  Grumpy  did  just  as  most  creatures  would 
have  done  under  the  circumstances :  she  turned 
tail  and  bolted  out  of  the  enemy's  country  into 
her  own  woods. 

But  Puss's  fighting  blood  was  up.  She  was 
not  content  with  repelling  the  enemy;  she 
wanted  to  inflict  a  crushing  defeat,  to  achieve 
an  absolute  and  final  rout.  And  however  fast 
old  Grumpy  might  go,  it  did  not  count,  for  the 
Cat  was  still  on  top,  working  her  teeth  and  claws 
like  a  little  demon.  Grumpy,  always  erratic, 
now  became  panic-stricken.  The  trail  of  the 
pair  was  flecked  with  tufts  of  long  black  hair, 
and  there  was  even  bloodshed  (in  the  fiftieth 
degree).  Honor  surely  was  satisfied,  but  Pussy 
was  not.  Round  and  round  they  had  gone  in 
the  mad  race.  Grumpy  was  frantic,  absolutely 
humiliated,  and  ready  to  make  any  terms ;  but 
Pussy  seemed  deaf  to  her  cough-like  yelps,  and 
no  one  knows  how  far  the  Cat  might  have 
ridden  that  day  had  not  Johnny  unwittingly 
'83 


Johnny  Bear 

put  a  new  idea  into  his  mother's  head  by  bawl- 
ing in  his  best  style  from  the  top  of  his  last 
tree,  which  tree  Grumpy  made  for  and  scram- 
bled up. 

This  was  so  clearly  the  enemy's  country  and 
in  view  of  his  reinforcements  that  the  Cat  wisely 
decided  to  follow  no  farther.  She  jumped 
from  the  climbing  Bear  to  the  ground,  and 
then  mounted  sentry-guard  below,  marching 
around  with  tail  in  the  air,  daring  that  Bear  to 
come  down.  Then  the  kittens  came  out  and 
sat  around,  and  enjoyed  it  all  hugely.  And  the 
mountaineers  assured  me  that  the  Bears  would 
have  been  kept  up  the  tree  till  they  were  starved, 
had  not  the  cook  of  the  Hotel  come  out  and 
called  off  his  Cat — although  this  statement  was 
not  among  those  vouched  for  by  the  officers  of 
the  Park. 

VII 

THE  last  time  I  saw  Johnny  he  was  in  the  top 
of  a  tree,  bewailing  his  unhappy  lot  as  usual, 
while  his  mother  was  dashing  about  among  the 
pines,  "with  a  chip  on  her  shoulder,"  seeking 
for  some  one — any  one — that  she  could  punish 
184 


Then  Pussy  Launched  her  Ultimatum. 


Johnny  Bear 

for  Johnny's  sake,  provided,  of  course,  that  it 
Wits  not  a  big  Grizzly  or  a  Mother  Cat. 

This  was  early  in  August,  but  there  were  not 
lacking  symptoms  of  change  in  old  Grumpy. 
She  was  always  reckoned  "  onsartain,"  and  her 
devotion  to  Johnny  seemed  subject  to  her  char- 
acteristic. This  perhaps  accounted  for  the  fact 
that  when  the  end  of  the  month  was  near,  Johnny 
would  sometimes  spend  half  a  day  in  the  top  of 
some  tree,  alone,  miserable,  and  utterly  unheeded. 

The  last  chapter  of  his  history  came  to  pass 
after  I  had  left  the  region.  One  day  at  gray 
dawn  he  was  tagging  along  behind  his  mother 
as  she  prowled  in  the  rear  of  the  Hotel.  A 
newly  hired  Irish  girl  was  already  astir  in  the 
kitchen.  On  looking  out,  she  saw,  as  she 
thought,  a  Calf  where  it  should  not  be,  and  ran 
to  shoo  it  away.  That  open  kitchen  door  still 
held  unmeasured  terrors  for  Grumpy,  and  she 
ran  in  such  alarm  that  Johnny  caught  the  in- 
fection, and  not  being  able  to  keep  up  with  her, 
he  made  for  the  nearest  tree,  which  unfortunately 
turned  out  to  be  a  post,  and  soon — too  soon — 
he  arrived  at  its  top,  some  seven  feet  from  the 
ground,  and  there  poured  forth  his  woes  on  the 
187 


Johnny  Bear 

chilly  morning  air,  while  Grumpy  apparently 
felt  justified  in  continuing  her  flight  alone. 
When  the  girl  came  near  and  saw  that  she  had 
treed  some  wild  animal,  she  was  as  much  fright- 
ened as  her  victim.  But  others  of  the  kitchen 
staff  appeared,  and  recognizing  the  vociferous 
Johnny,  they  decided  to  make  him  a  prisoner. 

A  collar  and  chain  were  brought,  and  after  a 
struggle,  during  which  several  of  the  men  got  well 
scratched,  the  collar  was  buckled  on  Johnny's 
neck  and  the  chain  made  fast  to  the  post. 

When  he  found  that  he  was  held,  Johnny 
was  simply  too  mad  to  scream.  He  bit  and 
scratched  and  tore  till  he  was  tired  out.  Then 
he  lifted  up  his  voice  again  to  call  his  mother. 
She  did  appear  once  or  twice  in  the  distance, 
but  could  not  make  up  her  mind  to  face  that  Cat, 
so  disappeared,  and  Johnny  was  left  to  his  fate. 

He  put  in  the  most  of  that  day  in  alternate 
struggling  and  crying.  Toward  evening  he  was 
worn  out,  and  glad  to  accept  the  meal  that  was 
brought  by  Norah,  who  felt  herself  called  on  to 
play  mother,  since  she  had  chased  his  own 
mother  away. 

When  night  came  it  was  very  cold;  but 
1 88 


Johnny  Bear 

Johnny  nearly  froze  at  the  top  of  the  post  be- 
fore he  would  come  down  and  accept  the  warm 
bed  provided  at  the  bottom. 

During  the  days  that  followed,  Grumpy 
came  often  to  the  garbage-heap,  but  soon 
apparently  succeeded  in  forgetting  all  about  her 
son.  He  was  daily  tended  by  Norah,  and  re- 
ceived all  his  meals  from  her.  He  also  received 
something  else ;  for  one  day  he  scratched  her 
when  she  brought  his  food,  and  she  very  prop- 
erly spanked  him  till  he  squealed.  For  a  few 
hours  he  sulked ;  he  was  not  used  to  such 
treatment.  But  hunger  subdued  him,  and 
thenceforth  he  held  his  new  guardian  in  whole- 
some respect.  She,  too,  began  to  take  an  inter- 
est in  the  poor  motherless  little  wretch,  and 
within  a  fortnight  Johnny  showed  signs  of  de- 
veloping a  new  character.  He  was  much  less 
noisy.  He  still  expressed  his  hunger  in  a  whin- 
ing Er-r-r  Er-r-r  Er-r-r,  but  he  rarely  squealed 
now,  and  his  unruly  outbursts  entirely  ceased. 

By  the  third  week  of  September  the  change 

was  still  more  marked.     Utterly  abandoned  by 

his  own  mother,  all  his  interest  had  centred  in 

Norah,  and  she  had  fed  and  spanked  him  into 

189 


Johnny  Bear 

an  exceedingly  well-behaved  little  Bear.  Some- 
times she  would  allow  him  a  taste  of  freedom, 
and  he  then  showed  his  bias  by  making,  not  for 
the  woods,  but  for  the  kitchen  where  she  was, 
and  following  her  around  on  his  hind  legs. 
Here  also  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  that 
dreadful  Cat ;  but  Johnny  had  a  powerful  friend 
now,  and  Pussy  finally  became  reconciled  to 
the  black,  woolly  interloper. 

As  the  Hotel  was  to  be  closed  in  October, 
there  was  talk  of  turning  Johnny  loose  or  of 
sending  him  to  the  Washington  Zoo ;  but  Norah 
had  claims  that  she  would  not  forego. 

When  the  frosty  nights  of  late  September 
came,  Johnny  had  greatly  improved  in  his  man- 
ners, but  he  had  also  developed  a  bad  cough. 
An  examination  of  his  lame  leg  had  shown  that 
the  weakness  was  not  in  the  foot,  but  much 
more  deeply  seated,  perhaps  in  the  hip,  and  that 
meant  a  feeble  and  tottering  constitution. 

He  did  not  get  fat,  as  do  most  Bears  in  fall ; 
indeed,  he  continued  to  fail.  His  little  round 
belly  shrank  in,  his  cough  became  worse,  and 
one  morning  he  was  found  very  sick  and  shiver- 
ing in  his  bed  by  the  post.  Norah  brought 
190 


Johnny  Bear 

him  indoors,  where  the  warmth  helped  him  so 
much  that  thenceforth  he  lived  in  the  kitchen. 

For  a  few  days  he  seemed  better,  and  his 
old-time  pleasure  in  seeing  things  revived.  The 
great  blazing  fire  in  the  range  particularly  ap- 
pealed to  him,  and  made  him  sit  up  in  his  old 
attitude  when  the  opening  of  the  door  brought 
the  wonder  to  view.  After  a  week  he  lost  in- 
terest even  in  that,  and  drooped  more  and  more 
each  day.  Finally  not  the  most  exciting  noises 
or  scenes  around  him  could  stir  up  his  old  fond- 
ness for  seeing  what  was  going  on. 

He  coughed  a  good  deal,  too,  and  seemed 
wretched,  except  when  in  Norah's  lap.  Here 
he  would  cuddle  up  contentedly,  and  whine 
most  miserably  when  she  had  to  set  him  down 
again  in  hit>  basket. 

A  few  days  before  the  closing  of  the  Hotel, 
he  refused  his  usual  breakfast,  and  whined 
softly  till  Norah  took  him  in  her  lap ;  then  he 
feebly  snuggled  up  to  her,  and  his  soft  Er-r-r 
Er-r-r  grew  fainter,  till  it  ceased.  Half  an 
hour  later,  when  she  laid  him  down  to  go  about 
her  work,  Little  Johnny  had  lost  the  last  trace  of 
his  anxiety  to  see  and  know  what  was  going  on. 
191 


I 


r     T&\    /B\      /f^    TWi^R 


The  Mother  Teal  and  the 
Overland  Route 


The  Mother  Teal  and  the 
Overland  Route 


GREEN-WINGED  Teal 
had  made  her  nest  in  the 
sedge  by  one  of  the  grass- 
edged  pools  that  fleck  the 
sunny  slope  of  the  Riding 
Mountain.  The  passing 
half-breed,  driving  his 
creaking  ox-wagon,  saw  only  a  pond  with  the 
usual  fringe  of  coarse  grass,  beyond  which  was  a 
belt  of  willow  scrub  and  an  old  poplar-tree.  But 
the  little  Teal  in  the  rushes,  and  her  neighbors, 
the  Flickers,  on  the  near-by  poplar,  saw  in  the 
nestling  pool  a  kingdom,  a  perfect  paradise,  for 
this  was  home.  Now  was  the  ripeness  of  the 
love-moon,  with  the  mother-moon  at  hand  in  its 
'95 


The  Mother  Teal  and  the  Overland  Route 


fulness  of  promise.  Indeed,  the  little  Flickers 
had  almost  chipped  their  glassy  shells,  and  the 
eggs,  the  ten  treasures  of  the  Teal,  had  lost  the 
look  of  mere  interesting  things,  and  were  putting 
on,  each,  an  air  of  sleeping  personality,  warm, 
sentient,  pulsatory,  and  almost  vocal. 

The  little  Teal  had  lost  her  mate  early  in  the 
season.  At  least,  he  had  disappeared,  and  as 
the  land  abounded  in  deadly  foes,  it  was  fair  to 
suppose  him  dead.  But  her  attention  was  fully 
taken  up  with  her  nest  and  her  brood. 

All  through  the  latter  part  of  June  she  tended 
them  carefully,  leaving  but  a  little  while  each 
day  to  seek  food,  and  then  covering  them  care- 
fully with  a  dummy  foster-mother  that  she  had 
made  of  down  from  her  own  breast. 

One  morning,  as  she  flew  away,  leaving  the 
dummy  in  charge,  she  heard  an  ominous  crack- 
ling in  the  thick  willows  near  at  hand,  but  she 
wisely  went  on.  When  she  returned,  her  neigh- 
bor, the  Flicker,  was  still  uttering  a  note  of 
alarm,  and  down  by  her  own  nest  were  the 
fresh  tracks  of  a  man.  The  dummy  mother 
had  been  disturbed,  but,  strange  to  tell,  the 
eggs  were  all  there  and  unharmed. 
196 


The  Mother  Teal  and  the  Overland  Route 

The  enemy,  though  so  near,  had  been  baffled 
after  all.  As  the  days  went  by,  and  the  grand 
finish  of  her  task  drew  near,  the  little  Green- 
wing  felt  the  mother-love  growing  in  her  heart 
to  be  ready  for  the  ten  little  prisoners  that  her 
devotion  was  to  set  free.  They  were  no  longer 
mere  eggs,  she  felt,  and  sometimes  she  would 
talk  to  them  in  low  raucous  tones,  and  they 
would  seem  to  answer  from  within  in  whispered 
"  peepings,"  or  perhaps  in  sounds  that  have  no 
human  name  because  too  fine  for  human  ear. 
So  there  is  small  wonder  that  when  they  do 
come  out  they  have  already  learned  many  of 
the  few  simple  words  that  make  up  Teal-talk. 

The  many  hazards  of  the  early  nesting-time 
were  rapidly  passed,  but  a  new  one  came.  The 
growing  springtime  had  turned  into  a  drought. 
No  rain  had  fallen  for  many,  many  days,  and 
as  the  greatest  day  of  all  drew  near,  the  mother 
saw  with  dismay  that  the  pond  was  shrinking, 
quickly  shrinking.  Already  it  was  rimmed 
about  by  a  great  stretch  of  bare  mud,  and 
unless  the  rains  came  soon,  the  first  experience 
of  the  little  ones  would  be  a  perilous  overland 
journey. 

197 


The  Mother  Teal  arid  the  Overland  Route 

It  was  just  as  impossible  to  hurry  up  the 
hatching  as  it  was  to  bring  rain,  and  the  last 
few  days  of  the  mother's  task  were,  as  she  had 
feared,  in  view  of  a  wide  mud-flat  where  once 
had  been  the  pond. 

They  all  came  out  at  last.  The  little  china 
tombs  were  broken  one  by  one,  disclosing  each 
a  little  Teal :  ten  little  balls  of  mottled  down, 
ten  little  cushions  of  yellow  plush,  ten  little 
golden  caskets  with  jewel  eyes,  enshrining  each 
a  priceless  spark  of  life. 

But  fate  had  been  so  harsh.  It  was  now  a  mat- 
ter of  life  and  death  to  reach  a  pond.  Oh,  why 
did  not  Old  Sol  give  the  downlings  three  days  of 
paddling  to  strengthen  on  before  enforcing  this 
dreadful  journey  overland?  The  mother  must 
face  the  problem  and  face  it  now,  or  lose  them  all. 

The  Ducklings  do  not  need  to  eat  for  several 
hours  after  they  are  hatched.  Their  bodies  are 
yet  sustained  by  the  provender  of  their  last 
abode.  But  once  that  is  used  they  must  eat. 
The  nearest  pond  was  half  a  mile  away.  And 
the  great  questions  were:  Can  these  baby 
Ducks  hold  out  that  long?  Can  they  escape 
the  countless  dangers  of  the  road?  For  not  a 
198 


The  Mother  Teal  and  the  Overland  Route 

Harrier,  Falcon,  Hawk,  Fox,  Weasel,  Coyote, 
Gopher,  Ground-squirrel,  or  Snake  but  would 
count  them  his  lawful  prey. 

All  this  the  mother  felt  instinctively,  even  if 
she  did  not  set  it  forth  in  clear  expression  ;  and 
as  soon  as  the  ten  were  warmed  and  lively  she 
led  them  into  the  grass.  Such  a  scrambling 
and  peeping  and  tumbling  about  as  they  tried  to 
get  through  and  over  the  grass-stalks  that,  like  a 
bamboo  forest,  barred  their  way!  Their  mother 
had  to  watch  the  ten  with  one  eye  and  the  whole 
world  with  the  other,  for  not  a  friend  had  she 
or  they  outside  of  themselves.  The  countless 
living  things  about  were  either  foes  or  neutral. 

II 

AFTER  a  long  scramble  through  the  grass  they 
climbed  a  bank  and  got  among  the  poplar 
scrub,  and  here  sat  down  to  rest.  One  little 
fellow  that  had  struggled  along  bravely  with 
the  others  was  so  weak  that  there  seemed  no 
chance  of  his  reaching  that  far-away  Happy- 
land,  the  pond. 

When  they  were  rested,  their  mother  gave  a 
199 


The  Mother  Teal  and  the  Overland  Route 

low,  gentle  quack  that  doubtless  meant,  "  Come 
along,  children,"  and  they  set  off  again,  scram- 
bling over  and  around  the  twigs,  each  peeping 
softly  when  he  was  getting  along  nicely,  or 
plaintively  when  he  found  himself  caught  in 
some  thicket. 

At  last  they  came  to  a  wide  open  place.  It 
was  easy  to  travel  here,  but  there  was  great 
danger  of  Hawks.  The  mother  rested  long  in 
the  edge  of  the  thicket,  and  scanned  the  sky  in 
every  direction  before  she  ventured  into  the 
open.  Then,  when  all  was  clear,  she  marshalled 
her  little  army  for  a  dash  over  this  great  desert 
of  nearly  one  hundred  yards. 

The  little  fellows  bravely  struggled  after  her, 
their  small  yellow  bodies  raised  at  an  angle, 
and  their  tiny  wings  held  out  like  arms  as  they 
pushed  along  after  "mother." 

She  was  anxious  to  finish  it  all  at  one  dash, 
but  soon  saw  that  that  was  hopeless.  The 
strongest  of  her  brood  could  keep  up  with  her, 
but  the  others  dragged  in  order  of  weakness. 
The  brood  now  formed  a  little  procession  over 
twenty  feet  long,  and  the  weakling  was  nearly 
ten  feet  behind  that  again. 


*<&- :&_    ;*jj«- 


The  Mother  Teal  and  the  Overland  Route 

A  dangerous  rest  in  the  open  was  now  en- 
forced. The  peepers  came  panting  up  to  their 
mother,  and  full  of  anxiety,  she  lay  there  beside 
them  till  they  were  able  to  go  on.  Then  she 
led  them  as  before,  quacking  gently,  "  Courage, 
my  darlings! " 

They  were  not  half-way  to  the  pond  yet,  and 
the  journey  was  telling  on  them  long  before  they 
reached  this  last  friendly  thicket.  The  brood 
strung  out  into  another  procession,  with  a  wide 
gap  to  the  runtie  in  the  rear,  when  a  great 
Marsh  Hawk  suddenly  appeared  skimming  low 
over  the  ground. 

"Squat!"  gasped  Mother  Greenwing,  and 
the  little  things  all  lay  flat,  except  the  last 
one.  Too  far  off  to  hear  the  low  warning, 
he  struggled  on.  The  great  Hawk  swooped, 
seized  him  in  his  claws,  and  bore  him  peeping 
away  over  the  bushes.  All  the  poor  mother 
could  do  was  gaze  in  dumb  sorrow  as  the 
bloodthirsty  pirate  bore  off  the  downling,  unre- 
sisted  and  unpunished.  Yet,  no ;  not  entirely ; 
for,  as  he  flew  straight  to  the  bank  of  the  pond 
where  lodged  his  crew  of  young  marauders,  he 
heedlessly  passed  over  the  home  bush  of  a 


The  Mother  Teal  and  the  Overland  Route 

Kingbird,  and  that  fearless  little  warrior 
screamed  out  his  battle-cry  as  he  launched  in 
air  to  give  chase.  Away  went  the  pirate,  and 
away  went  the  King,  the  one  huge,  heavy,  and 
cowardly,  the  other  small,  swift,  and  fearless 
as  a  hero,  away  and  away,  out  of  sight,  the 
Kingbird  gaining  at  every  stroke,  till  his  voice 
was  lost  in  the  distance. 

The  sorrow  of  the  Mother  Greenwing,  if  less 
deep  than  that  of  the  human  mother,  was  yet 
very  real.  But  she  had  now  the  nine  to  guard. 
They  needed  her  every  thought.  She  led  them 
as  quickly  as  possible  into  the  bushes,  and  for 
a  time  they  breathed  more  freely. 

Thenceforth  she  managed  to  have  the  journey 
lie  through  the  cover.  An  hour  or  more  passed 
by  in  slight  alarms  and  in  many  rests,  and  the 
pond  was  very  near ;  and  well  it  was,  for  the 
Ducklings  were  almost  worn  out,  their  little 
paddles  were  scratched  and  bleeding,  and  their 
strength  was  all  but  gone.  For  a  time  they 
gasped  under  shadow  of  the  last  tall  bush  be- 
fore again  setting  out  in  a  compact  flock  to  cross 
the  next  bare  place,  a  rough  opening  through 
the  poplars. 


The  Mother  Teal  and  the  Overland  Route 

And  they  never  knew  that  death  in  another 
form  had  hovered  on  their  track.  A  Red  Fox 
crossed  the  trail  of  the  little  Duck  army.  His 
keen  nose  told  him  at  once  that  here  was  a 
feast  awaiting,  and  all  he  had  to  do  was  follow 
it  up  and  eat.  So  he  sneaked  softly  and  swiftly 
along  their  well-marked  trail.  He  was  already 
in  sight  of  them.  In  the  ordinary  course  he 
soon  would  have  them,  mother  and  all,  but  the 
ordinary  course  may  go  askew.  He  was  near 
enough  to  count  the  little  marchers,  if  count  he 
could,  when  the  wind  brought  something  which 
made  him  stop,  crouch  low,  then,  at  a  surer 
whiff,  he  slunk  away,  fled  as  swiftly  as  he  could 
without  being  seen.  And  the  realest  danger, 
surest  death  of  all  that  had  threatened,  was 
thwarted  by  an  unseen  power,  and  not  even  the 
watchful  Mother  Duck  had  the  slightest  hint  of  it. 


Ill 

THE  little  ones  now  toddled  along  after  their 
mother,  who  led  them  quickly  to  cross  the 
opening.  To  her  delight,  a  long  arm  of  the 
pond  was  quite  close,  just  across  that  treeless 
203 


/  The  Mother  Teal  and  the  Overland  Route 

lane.  She  made  straight  for  it,  joyfully  calling, 
"  Come,  my  darlings!  " 

But  alas!  the  treeless  opening  was  one  of 
the  man-made  things  called  a  "  cart-trail."  On 
each  side  of  it  were  two  deep-worn,  endless  canons 
that  man  calls  "  wheel-ruts,"  and  into  the  first  of 
these  fell  four  of  her  brood.  Five  managed  to 
scramble  across,  but  the  other  rut  was  yet  deeper 
and  wider,  and  the  five  were  there  engulfed. 

Oh,  dear,  this  was  terrible!  The  little  ones 
were  too  weak  now  to  climb  out.  The  ruts 
seemed  endless  in  both  directions,  and  the 
mother  did  not  know  how  to  help  them.  She 
and  they  were  in  despair,  and  as  she  ran  about 
calling  and  urging  them  to  put  forth  all  their 
strength,  there  came  up  suddenly  the  very 
thing  she  most  feared,— the  deadliest  enemy  of 
Ducks, — a  great  tall  man. 

Mother  Greenwing  flung  herself  at  his  feet 
and  flopped  on  the  grass.  Not  begging  for 
mercy !  Oh,  no !  She  was  only  trying  to  trick 
the  man  into  thinking  she  was  wounded,  so  that 
he  would  follow  her,  and  she  could  lead  him 
away. 

But  this  man  knew  the  trick,  and  he  would 
204 


The  Mother  Teal  and  the  Overland  Route 

not  follow.  Instead  of  that  he  looked  about, 
and  found  the  nine  little  bright-eyed  down- 
lings  deep  in  the  ruts,  vainly  trying  to  hide. 

He  stooped  gently,  and  gathered  them  all 
into  his  hat.  Poor  little  things,  how  they  did 
peep!  Poor  little  mother,  how  she  did  cry 
in  bitterness  for  her  brood!  Now  she  knew 
that  they  all  were  to  be  destroyed  before  her 
very  eyes,  and  she  beat  her  breast  on  the 
ground  before  the  terrible  giant  in  agony  of 
sorrow. 

Then  the  heartless  monster  went  to  the  edge 
of  the  pond,  no  doubt  for  a  drink  to  wash  the 
Ducklings  down  his  throat.  He  bent  down, 
and  a  moment  later  the  Ducklings  were  spat- 
tering free  over  the  water.  The  mother  flew  out 
on  the  glassy  surface.  She  called,  and  they  all 
came  skurrying  to  her.  She  did  not  know  that 
this  man  was  really  her  friend ;  she  never  knew 
that  he  was  the  divinity  whose  mere  presence 
had  been  enough  to  drive  the  Fox  away  and 
to  save  them  in  their  direst  strait, — his  race  has 
persecuted  hers  too  long, — and  she  went  on 
hating  him  to  the  end. 

She  tried  to  lead  her  brood  far  away  from 
205 


The  Mother  Teal  and  the  Overland  Route 

him.  She  took  them  right  across  the  open 
pond.  This  was  a  mistake,  for  it  exposed  them 
to  other,  to  real,  enemies.  That  great  Marsh 
Hawk  saw  them,  and  he  came  swooping  along, 
sure  of  getting  one  in  each  claw. 

"  Run  for  the  rushes!  "  called  out  the  Mother 
Greenwing  ;  and  run  they  all  did,  pattering  over 
the  surface  as  fast  as  their  tired  little  legs  could 
go- 

"Run!  run!"  cried  the  mother.  But  the 
Hawk  was  close  at  hand  now.  In  spite  of  all 
their  running  he  would  be  upon  them  in  another 
second.  They  were  too  young  to  dive.  There 
seemed  no  escape,  when,  just  as  he  pounced, 
the  bright  little  mother  gave  a  great  splash 
with  all  her  strength,  and  using  both  feet  and 
wings,  dashed  the  water  all  over  the  Hawk.  He 
was  astonished.  He  sprang  back  into  the  air  to 
shake  himself  dry.  The  mother  urged  the  little 
ones  to  "keep  on."  Keep  on  they  did.  But 
down  came  the  Hawk  again,  again  to  be  re- 
pelled with  a  shower  of  spray.  Three  times 
did  he  pounce,  three  times  did  she  drench  him, 
till  at  last  all  the  downlings  were  safe  in  the 
friendly  rushes.  The  angry  Hawk  now  made  a 
206 


Three  Times  Did  She  Drench  Him. 


The  Mother  Teal  and  the  Overland  Route 


lunge  at  the  mother;  but  she  could  dive,  and 
giving  a  good-by  splash,  she  easily  disappeared. 

Far  in  the  rushes  she  came  up,  and  called  a 
gentle  quack,  quack!  The  nine  tired  little 
ones  came  to  her,  and  safely  they  rested  at  last. 

But  that  was  not  all.  Just  as  they  began 
to  feast  on  the  teeming  insect  life,  a  far-away 
faint  peep  was  heard.  Mother  Greenwing 
called  again  her  mothering  qu-a-a-a-a-a-c-c — k. 
And  through  the  sedge  demurely  paddling,  like 
an  old-timer,  came  their  missing  one  that  the 
Hawk  had  carried  off. 

He  had  not  been  hurt  by  the  claws.  The 
valiant  Kingbird  had  overtaken  the  Hawk  over 
the  pond.  At  the  first  blow  of  his  bill  the 
Hawk  nad  shrieked  and  dropped  his  prey ;  the 
little  Duck  fell  unharmed  into  the  water,  and 
escaped  into  the  rushes  till  his  mother  and 
brothers  came,  then  he  rejoined  them,  and  they 
lived  happily  in  the  great  pond  till  they  all 
grew  up  and  flew  away  on  wiitgs  of  their  own. 


209 


rJ&\Tf\r&\  ^f\7&i 


Chink:  The  Development 
of  a  Pup 


Chink :  The  Development 
of  a  Pup 


HINK  was  just  old  enough 
to  think  himself  a  very  re- 
markable little  Dog;  and 
so  he  was,  but  not  in  the 
way  he  fondly  imagined. 
He  was  neither  fierce  nor 
dreadful,  strong  nor  swift, 
but  he  was  one  of  the  noisiest,  best-natured, 
silliest  Pups  that  ever  chewed  his  master's  boots 
to  bits.  His  master,  Bill  Aubrey,  was  an  old 
mountaineer  who  was  camped  below  Garnet 
Peak  in  the  Yellowstone  Park.  This  is  in  a 
very  quiet  corner,  far  from  the  usual  line  of 
travel,  and  Bill's  camp,  before  ours  came,  would 
have  been  a  very  lonely  place  but  for  his  com- 
213 


Chink :  The  Development  of  a  Pup 

panion,  this  irrepressible,  woolly-coated  little 
Dog. 

Chink  was  never  still  for  five  minutes.  In- 
deed, he  would  do  anything  he  was  told  to  do 
except  keep  still.  He  was  always  trying  to  do 
some  absurd  and  impossible  thing,  or,  if  he  did 
attempt  the  possible,  he  usually  spoiled  his  best 
effort  by  his  way  of  going  about  it.  He  once 
spent  a  whole  morning  trying  to  run  up  a  tall, 
^.f^  straight  pine-tree  in  whose  branches  was  a 

>      #j  snickering  Pine  Squirrel. 


^      ^  The  darling  ambition  of  his  life  for  some 

'•*  '      ''     *'  weeks  was  to  catch  one  of  the  Picket-pin  Go- 

phers that  swarmed  on  the  prairie  about  the 
camp.  These  little  animals  have  a  trick  of  sit- 
ting bolt  upright  on  their  hind  legs,  with  their 
paws  held  close  in,  so  that  at  a  distance  they 
look  exactly  like  picket-pins.  Often  when 
we  went  out  to  picket  our  horses  for  the  night 
we  would  go  toward  a  Gopher,  thinking  it  was 
a  picket-pin  already  driven  in,  and  would  find 
out  the  mistake  only  when  it  dived  into  the 
ground  with  a  defiant  chirrup. 

Chink  had  determined  to  catch  one  of  these 
Gophers  the  very  first  day  he  came  into  the 
214 


Chink :  The  Development  of  a  Pup 

valley.  Of  course  he  went  about  it  in  his  own 
original  way,  doing  everything  wrong  end  first, 
as  usual.  This,  his  master  said,  was  due  to  a 
streak  of  Irish  in  his  make-up.  So  Chink  would 
begin  a  most  elaborate  stalk  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
from  the  Gopher.  After  crawling  on  his  breast 
from  tussock  to  tussock  for  a  hundred  yards  or 
so,  the  nervous  strain  became  too  great,  and 
Chink,  getting  too  much  excited  to  crawl,  would 
rise  on  his  feet  and  walk  straight  toward  the 
Gopher,  which  would  now  be  sitting  up  by  its 
hole,  fully  alive  to  the  situation. 

After  a  minute  or  two  of  this  very  open  ap- 
proach, Chink's  excitement  would  overpower 
all  caution.  He  would  begin  running,  and  at 
the  last,  just  as  he  should  have  done  his  finest 
stalking,  he  would  go  bounding  and  barking 
toward  the  Gopher,  which  would  sit  like  a  peg 
of  wood  till  the  proper  moment,  then  dive  below 
with  a  derisive  chirrup,  throwing  with  its  hind 
feet  a  lot  of  sand  right  into  Chink's  eager,  open  ^, 

mouth.  { £. 

Day  after  day  this  went  on  with  level  same- 
ness,  and  still  Chink  did  not  give  up.  Per-  /*/^ 

severance,  he  seemed  to  believe,  must  surely  v£ 


Chink :  The  Development  of  a  Pup 

win  in  the  end,  as  indeed  it  did.  For  one  day 
he  made  an  unusually  elaborate  stalk  after  an 
unusually  fine  Gopher,  carried  out  all  his  absurd 
tactics,  finishing  with  the  grand,  boisterous 
charge,  and  actually  caught  his  victim  ;  but  this 
time  it  happened  to  be  a  wooden  picket-pin. 
Any  one  who  doubts  that  a  Dog  knows  when 
he  has  made  a  fool  of  himself  should  have  seen 
Chink  that  day  as  he  sheepishly  sneaked  out  of 
sight  behind  the  tent. 

But  failure  had  no  lasting  effect  on  Chink. 
There  was  a  streak  of  grit  as  well  as  Irish  in 
him  that  carried  him  through  every  reverse, 
and  nothing  could  dash  his  good  nature.  He 
was  into  everything  with  the  maximum  of 
energy  and  the  minimum  of  discretion,  de- 
lighted as  long  as  he  could  be  always  up  and 
doing. 

Every  passing  wagon  and  horseman  and 
grazing  Calf  had  to  be  chivvied,  and  if  the  Cat 
from  the  guard-house  strayed  by,  Chink  felt 
that  it  was  a  solemn  duty  he  owed  to  the  sol- 
diers, the  Cat,  and  himself  to  chase  her  home 
at  frightful  speed.  He  would  dash  twenty 
times  a  day  after  an  old  hat  that  Bill  used 
216 


Chink :  The  Development  of  a  Pup 


deliberately  to  throw  into  a  Wasps'  nest  with 
the  order,  "  Fetch  itl " 

It  took  time,  but  countless  disasters  began 
to  tell.  Chink  slowly  realized  that  there  were 
long  whips  and  big,  fierce  Dogs  with  wagons ; 
that  Horses  have  teeth  in  their  heels;  that 
Calves  have  relatives  with  clubs  on  their  heads ; 
that  a  slow  Cat  may  turn  out  a  Skunk ;  and 
that  Wasps  are  not  Butterflies.  Yes,  it  took  an 
uncommonly  long  time,  but  it  all  told  in  the 
end.  Chink  began  to  develop  a  grain — a  little 
one,  but  a  living,  growing  grain — of  good  Dog 
sense. 

II 

IT  seemed  as  if  all  his  blunders  were  the 
rough,  unsymmetrical  stones  of  an  arch,  and 
the  keystone  was  added,  the  structure,  his  char- 
acter, made  strong  and  complete,  by  his  crown- 
ing blunder  in  the  matter  of  a  large  Coyote. 

This  Coyote  lived  not  far  from  our  camp, 
and  he  evidently  realized,  as  all  the  animals 
there  do,  that  no  man  is  allowed  to  shoot,  trap, 
hunt,  or  in  any  way  molest  the  wild  creatures 
in  the  Park ;  above  all,  in  this  part,  close  to  the 
217 


'4K& 


Chink :  The  Development  of  a  Pop 

military  patrol,  with  soldiers  always  on  watch. 
Secure  in  the  knowledge  of  this,  the  Coyote 
used  to  come  about  the  camp  each  night  for 
scraps.  At  first  I  found  only  his  tracks  in  the 
dust,  as  though  he  had  circled  the  camp  but 
feared  to  come  very  near.  Then  we  began  to 
hear  his  weird  evening  song  just  after  sundown, 
or  about  sun-up.  At  length  his  track  was  plain 
in  the  dust  about  the  scrap-bucket  each  morn- 
ing when  I  went  out  to  learn  from  the  trail 
what  animals  had  been  there  during  the  night. 
Then  growing  bolder,  he  came  about  the  camp 
occasionally  in  the  daytime.  Shyly  at  first,  but 
with  increasing  assurance,  as  he  was  satisfied 
of  his  immunity,  until  finally  he  was  not  only 
there  every  night,  but  seemed  to  hang  around 
nearly  all  day,  sneaking  in  to  steal  whatever  was 
eatable,  or  sitting  in  plain  view  on  some  rising 
ground  at  a  distance. 

One  morning,  as  he  sat  on  a  bank  some  fifty 
yards  away,  one  of  us,  in  a  spirit  of  mischief, 
said  to  Chink :  "  Chink,  do  you  see  that  Coyote 
over  there  grinning  at  you?  Go  and  chase  him 
out  of  that." 

Chink  always  did  as  he  was  told,  and  burning 
218 


*&£  4& j 

*}*  <^  -W*- 


Chink :  The  Development  of  a  Pup 

to  distinguish  himself,  he  dashed  after  the  Co- 
yote, who  loped  lightly  away,  and  there  was  a 
pretty  good  race  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile ;  but  it 
was  nothing  to  the  race  which  began  when  the 
Coyote  turned  on  his  pursuer. 

Chink  realized  all  at  once  that  he  had  been 
lured  into  the  power  of  a  Tartar,  and  strained 
every  muscle  to  get  back  to  camp.  The  Coyote 
was  swifter,  and  soon  overtook  the  Dog,  nipping 
him  first  on  one  side,  then  on  the  other,  with 
manifest  glee,  as  if  he  were  cracking  a  series  of 
good  jokes  at  Chink's  expense. 

Chink  yelped  and  howled  and  ran  his  hardest, 
but  had  no  respite  from  his  tormentor  till  he 
dashed  right  into  camp ;  and  we,  I  am  afraid, 
laughed  with  the  Coyote,  and  the  Puppy  did 
not  get  the  sympathy  he  deserved  for  his  trouble 
in  doing  as  he  was  told. 

One  more  experience  like  this,  on  a  smaller 
scale,  was  enough  to  dampen  even  Chink's  en- 
thusiasm. He  decided  to  let  that  Coyote  very 
much  alone  in  future. 

Not  so  the  Coyote,  however.  He  had  discov- 
ered a  new  and  delightful  amusement.  He 
came  daily  now  and  hung  about  the  camp, 
219 


Chink:  The  Development  of  a  Pup 

knowing  perfectly  well  that  no  one  would  dare 
to  shoot  him.  Indeed,  the  lock  of  every  gun 
in  the  party  was  sealed  up  by  the  government 
officials,  and  soldiers  were  everywhere  on  watch 
to  enforce  the  laws. 

Thenceforth  that  Coyote  lay  in  wait  for  poor 
Chink,  and  sought  every  opportunity  to  tease 
him.  The  little  Dog  learned  that  if  he  went 
a  hundred  yards  from  camp  alone,  the  Coyote 
would  go  after  him,  and  bite  and  chase  him 
right  back  to  his  master's  tent. 

Day  after  day  this  went  on,  until  at  last 
Chink's  life  was  made  a  misery  to  him.  He 
did  not  dare  now  to  go  fifty  yards  from  the 
tent  alone ;  and  even  if  he  went  with  us  when 
we  rode,  that  fierce  and  impudent  Coyote  was 
sure  to  turn  up  and  come  along,  trotting  close 
beside  or  behind,  watching  for  a  chance  to 
worry  poor  Chink  and  spoiling  all  his  pleasure 
in  the  ramble,  but  keeping  just  out  of  reach  of 
our  quirts,  or  a  little  farther  off  when  we  stopped 
to  pick  up  some  stones. 

One  day  Aubrey  moved  his  camp  a  mile  up- 
stream, and  we  saw  less  of  the  Coyote,  for  the 
reason  that  he  moved  a  mile  up-stream  too, 

220 


Chink :  The  Development  of  a  Pup 


and,  like  all  bullies  who  are  unopposed,  grew 
more  insolent  and  tyrannical  every  day,  until 
poor  little  Chink's  life  became  at  last  a  veri- 
table reign  of  terror,  at  which  his  master  merely 
laughed. 

Aubrey  gave  it  out  that  he  had  moved  camp 
to  get  better  Horse-feed.  It  soon  turned  out, 
however,  that  he  wanted  to  be  alone  while  he 
enjoyed  the  contents  of  a  whiskey-flask  that  he 
had  obtained  somewhere.  But  one  flask  was  a 
mere  starter  for  him.  The  second  day  he 
mounted  his  Horse,  said,  "  Chink,  you  watch 
the  tent,"  and  rode  away  over  the  mountains 
to  the  nearest  saloon,  leaving  Chink  obediently 
curled  up  on  some  sacking. 


Ill 


Now,  with  all  his  puppyish  silliness,  Chink  was 
a  faithful  watch-dog,  and  his  master  knew  that 
he  would  take  care  of  the  tent  as  well  as  he  could. 
Late  that  afternoon  a  passing  mountaineer 
came  along.  When  he  was  within  shouting 
distance  he  stopped,  as  is  customary,  and 
shouted: 

221 


Chink :  The  Development  of  a  Pop 

"Hello  there,  Bill!      Oh,  Bill!" 

But  getting  no  answer,  he  went  up  to  the 
door,  and  there  was  met  by  "an  odd-looking 
Purp  with  his  bristles  all  on  end  " ;  and  Chink, 
for  of  course  it  was  he,  warned  him  in  many 
fierce  growls  to  keep  away. 

The  mountaineer  understood  the  situation 
and  went  on.  Evening  came,  and  no  master 
to  relieve  Chink,  who  was  now  getting  very 
hungry. 

There  was  some  bacon  in  the  tent  wrapped 
in  a  bag,  but  that  was  sacred.  His  master  had 
told  him  to  "watch  it,"  and  Chink  would  have 
starved  rather  than  touch  it. 

He  ventured  out  on  the  flat  in  hope  of  find- 
ing a  mouse  or  something  to  stay  the  pangs  of 
hunger,  when  suddenly  he  was  pounced  on  by 
that  brute  of  a  Coyote,  and  the  old  chase  was 
repeated  as  Chink  dashed  back  to  the  tent. 

There  a  change  came  over  him.  The  re- 
membrance of  his  duty  seemed  suddenly  to 
alter  him  and  brace  him  up,  just  as  the  cry 
of  her  Kitten  will  turn  a  timid  Cat  into  a 
Tigress. 

He  was  a  mere  Puppy  yet,  and  a  little  fool 

222 


Chink :  The  Development  of  a  Pup 

in  many  ways,  but  away  back  of  all  was  a  fibre 
of  strength  that  would  grow  with  his  years. 
The  moment  that  Coyote  tried  to  follow  into 
the  tent,— his  master's  tent, — Chink  forgot  all 
his  own  fears,  and  turned  on  the  enemy  like  a 
little  demon. 

The  beasts  feel  the  force  of  right  and  wrong 
They  know  moral  courage  and  cowardice.  The 
moral  force  was  all  with  the  little  scared  Dog, 
and  both  animals  seemed  to  know  it.  The 
Coyote  backed  off,  growling  savagely,  and  vow- 
ing, in  Coyote  fashion,  to  tear  that  Dog  to 
ribbons  very  soon.  All  the  same,  he  did  not 
venture  to  enter  the  tent,  as  he  clearly  had  in- 
tended doing. 

Then  began  a  literal  siege ;  for  the  Coyote 
came  back  every  little  while,  and  walked  round 
the  tent,  scratching  contemptuously  with  his 
hind  feet,  or  marching  up  to  the  open  door,  to 
be  met  at  once,  face  to  face,  by  poor  little 
Chink,  who,  really  half  dead  with  fear,  was  brave 
again  as  soon  as  he  saw  any  attempt  to  injure 
the  things  in  his  charge. 

All  this  time  Chink  had  nothing  to  eat.  He 
could  slip  out  and  get  a  drink  at  the  near-by 
223 


Chink :  The  Development  of  a  Pup 

stream  once  or  twice  a  day,  but  he  could  not 
get  a  meal  in  that  way.  He  could  have  torn  a 
hole  in  the  sack  and  eaten  some  bacon,  but  he 
would  not,  for  that  was  in  trust ;  or  he  could 
\~  ••*'  *"  v  have  watched  his  chance  to  desert  his  post,  and 

sneaked  off  to  our  camp,  where  he  would  have 
been  sure  of  a  good  meal.     But  no ;  adversity 
[<^      '  had  developed  the  true  Dog  in  him.     He  would 

'    •      '  not  betray  his  master's  trust  in  any  way.     He 

was  ready  to  die  at  his  post,  if  need  be,  while 
that  master  was  away  indulging  in  a  drunken 
carouse. 

For  four  days  and  four  nights  of  misery  did 
this  heroic  little  Dog  keep  his  place,  and  keep 
tent  and  stuff  from  the  Coyote  that  he  held  in 
mortal  terror. 

On  the  fifth  morning  old  Aubrey  had  awa- 
kened to  the  fact  that  he  was  not  at  home,  and 
that  his  camp  in  the  mountains  was  guarded 
only  by  a  small  Dog.  He  was  tired  of  his  spree 
now,  and  he  got  on  his  Horse  and  set  out  over 
the  hills,  sober  but  very  shaky.  When  he  was 
about  half-way  on  the  trail  it  suddenly  dawned 
on  his  clouded  brain  that  he  had  left  Chink 
without  any  food. 

224 


Trembling  with  Fear  and  Weakness,  He  was 
Making  his  Last  Stand. 


Chink :  The  Development  of  a  Pup 


"  Hope  the  little  beast  hain't  spoiled  all  my 
bacon,"  he  thought,  and  he  pressed  on  more 
briskly  till  he  came  to  the  ridge  commanding  a 
view  of  his  tent.  There  it  was,  and  there  at 
the  door,  exchanging  growls  and  snapping  at 
each  other,  were  the  big,  fierce  Coyote  and  poor 
little  Chink. 

"  Wai,  I  be  darned !  "  exclaimed  Aubrey.  "  I 
forgot  all  about  that  blasted  Coyote.  Poor 
Chink!  he  must  'a'  had  a  mighty  tough  time. 
Wonder  he  ain't  all  chawed  up  an'  the  camp  in 
tatters." 

There  he  was,  bravely  making  his  last  stand. 
His  legs  were  tottering  under  him  with  fear  and 
hunger,  but  he  still  put  on  his  boldest  face,  and 
was  clearly  as  ready  as  ever  to  die  in  defence  of 
the  camp. 

The  cold  gray  eyes  of  the  mountaineer  took 
in  this  part  of  the  situation  at  the  first  glance, 
and  when  he  galloped  up  and  saw  the  un- 
touched bacon,  he  realized  that  Chink  had 
eaten  nothing  since  he  left.  When  the  Puppy, 
trembling  with  fear  and  weakness,  crawled  up 
and  looked  in  his  face  and  licked  his  hand  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  I've  done  what  you  told  me," 
227 


Chink :  The  Development  of  a  Pop 

it  was  too  much  for  old  Aubrey.  The  tears 
stood  in  his  eyes  as  he  hastened  to  get  food  for 
the  little  hero. 

Then  he  turned  to  him  and  said :  "  Chink, 
old  pard,  I've  treated  you  dirty,  an'  you  always 
treated  me  white.  I'll  never  go  on  another 
spree  without  takin'  you  along,  Chink,  an'  I'll 
treat  you  as  white  as  you  treated  me,  if  I  know 
how.  'Tain't  much  more  I  kin  do  for  you,  pard, 
since  ye  don't  drink,  but  I  reckon  I  kin  lift  the 
biggest  worry  out  o'  yer  life,  an'  I'll  do  it,  too." 

Then  from  the  ridge-pole  he  took  down  the 
pride  of  his  heart,  his  treasured  repeating  rifle, 
and,  regardless  of  consequences,  he  broke  the 
government  seals,  wax  eagles,  red  tape,  and  all, 
and  went  to  the  door. 

The  Coyote  was  sitting  off  a  little  way  with  a 
Mephistophelian  grin  on  his  face,  as  usual ;  but 
the  rifle  rang,  and  Chink's  reign  of  terror  was 
at  an  end. 

WHAT  matter  if  the  soldiers  did  come  out  and 
find  that  the  laws  of  the  Park  had  been  violated, 
that  Aubrey  had  shot  one  of  the  animals  of  the 
Park? 

228 


Chink:  The  Development  of  a  Pup 

What  matter  to  Aubrey  if  his  gun  was  taken 
from  him  and  destroyed,  and  he  and  his  outfit 
expelled  from  the  Park,  with  a  promise  of  being 
jailed  if  ever  he  returned?  What  did  it  all 
matter? 

"  It's  all  right,"  said  old  Aubrey.  "  I  done 
the  squar'  thing  by  my  pard — my  pard,  that 
always  treated  me  white." 


229 


I 

I 


^  j^Ti^^\  rft\  rf\rfFi 

******* 

/Wi  WS  ^W\ 
The  Kangaroo  Rai 


The  Kangaroo  Rat 


|T  was  a  rough,  rock-built, 
squalid  ranch-house  that  I 
lived  in,  on  the  Currumpaw. 
The  plaster  of  the  walls  was 
mud,  the  roof  and  walls 
were  dry  mud,  the  great 
river-flat  around  it  was 
sandy  mud,  and  the  hills  a  mile  away  were 
piled-up  mud,  sculptured  by  frost  and  rain  into 
the  oddest  of  mud  vagaries,  with  here  and 
there  a  coping  of  lava  to  prevent  the  utter 
demolition  of  some  necessary  mud  pinnacle 
by  the  indefatigable  sculptors  named. 

The  place  seemed  uninviting  to  a  stranger 

from  the  lush  and  fertile  prairies  of  Manitoba, 

but  the  more  I  saw  of  it  the  more  it  was  revealed 

233 


The  Kangaroo  Rat 


a.  paradise.  For  every  cottonwood  of  the  strag- 
gling belt  that  the  river  used  to  mark  its  doubtful 
course  across  the  plain,  and  every  dwarfed  and 
spiny  bush  and  weedy  copse,  was  teeming  with 
life.  And  every  day  and  every  night  I  made 
new  friends,  or  learned  new  facts  about  the 
mudland  denizens. 

Man  and  the  Birds  are  understood  to  possess 
the  earth  during  the  daylight,  therefore  the  night 
has  become  the  time  for  the  four-footed  ones  to 
be  about,  and  in  order  that  I  might  set  a  sleep- 
less watch  on  their  movements  I  was  careful 
each  night  before  going  to  bed  to  sweep  smooth 
the  dust  about  the  shanty  and  along  the  two  path- 
ways, one  to  the  spring  and  one  to  the  corral  by 
way  of  the  former  corn-patch,  still  called  the 
"  garden." 

Each  morning  I  went  out  with  all  the  feel- 
ings of  a  child  meeting  the  Christmas  postman, 
or  of  a  fisherman  hauling  in  his  largest  net, 
eager  to  know  what  there  was  for  me. 

Not  a  morning  passed   without  a  message 

from  the  beasts.     Nearly  every  night  a  Skunk 

or  two  would  come  and  gather  up  table-scraps, 

prying  into  all  sorts  of  forbidden  places  in  their 

234 


•"•^ 


The  Kangaroo  Rat 

search.  Once  or  twice  a  Bobcat  came.  And 
one  morning  the  faithful  dust  reported  in  great 
detail  how  the  Bobcat  and  the  Skunk  had 
differed.  There  was  evidence,  too,  that  the 
Bobcat  quickly  said  (in  Bobcat,  of  course),  "  I 
beg  pardon,  I  mistook  you  for  a  rabbit,  but  will 
never  again  make  such  a  mistake." 

More  than  once  the  sinister  trail  of  the 
"Hydrophoby-cat"  was  recorded.  And  on  one 
occasion  the  great  broad  track  of  the  King  Wolf 
of  the  region  came  right  up  the  pathway,  nearly 
to  the  door,  the  tracks  getting  closer  together 
as  he  neared  it.  Then  stopping,  he  had  exactly 
retraced  his  steps  and  gone  elsewhere  about  his 
business.  Jack-rabbits,  Coyotes,  and  Cotton- 
tails all  passed,  and  wrote  for  me  a  few  original 
lines  commemorative  of  their  visit— and  all  were 
faithfully  delivered  on  call  next  morning. 

But  always  over  and  through  all  other  tracks 
was  a  curious,  delicate,  lace-like  fabric  of  polka- 
dots  and  interwoven  sinuous  lines.  It  was  there 
each  morning,  fresh  made  the  night  before, 
whatever  else  was  missing.  But  there  was  so 
much  of  its  pattern  that  it  was  impossible  to 
take  any  one  line  and  follow  it  up. 
235 


The  Kangaroo  Rat 

At  first  it  seemed  to  be  made  up  of  the  trails 
of  many  small  bipeds,  each  closely  followed  by 
its  little  one.  Now,  man  and  Birds  are  the  only 
bipeds,  but  these  were  clearly  not  the  tracks  of 
any  Bird.  Trying  to  be  judicial,  I  put  together 
all  the  facts  that  the  dust  reported.  First,  here 
was  proof  that  a  number  of  tiny,  two-legged, 
fur-slippered  creatures  came  nightly  to  dance  in 
the  moonlight.  Each  one,  as  he  pirouetted 
about,  was  closely  followed  by  a  much  smaller 
one  of  the  same  kind,  as  though  by  his  page. 
They  came  from  nowhere  and  went  again  as 
they  would.  And  they  must  have  been  invisible 
at  will,  or  else  how  escape  the  ever-watchful 
Coyotes? 

If  only  this  had  been  in  England  or  Ireland, 
any  peasant  could  have  explained  it  offhand — 
invisible  pairs  of  tiny,  furry  boots,  dancing  in 
the  moonlight — why,  the  veriest  idiot  knows 
that— fairies,  of  course. 

But  in  New  Mexico  I  had  never  heard  of 
such  a  thing.  In  no  work  on  this  country,  so 
far  as  I  knew,  was  there  any  mention  of  their 
occurrence. 

If  only  it  could  be!    Would  it  not  be  delight- 


They  Came  Nightly  to  Dance  in  the  Moonlight. 


The  Kangaroo  Rat 

ful?  I  would  gladly  have  believed.  Christian 
Andersen  would  have  insisted  on  believing  in 
it,  and  then  made  others  believe  it,  too.  But  for 
me,  alas !  it  was  impossible,  for  long  ago,  when 
my  soul  came  to  the  fork  in  the  trail  marked 
on  the  left  "To  Arcadie,"  on  the  right  "To 
Scientia,"  I  took  the  flinty,  upland  right-hand 
path.  I  had  given  up  my  fayland  eyes  for— for 
I  do  not  know  what.  And  so  I  was  puzzled, 
but  the  more  puzzled,  the  more  interested,  of 
course;  and  remembering,  from  former  ex- 
perience, that  it  pays  to  offer  a  great  deal  of 
clear  writing-space  to  the  visitors  who  nightly 
favored  me  with  their  autographs,  I  made  with 
unusual  care  a  large  extension  of  the  clean- 
swept  dust  sheet,  to  which  the  sage-brush-scented 
evening  wind  added  a  still  smoother  finish,  and 
which  next  day  enabled  me  to  follow  out  a 
single  line  of  the  point-lace  pattern. 

It  went  dimpling  down  the  path,  toward 
the  six  old  corn-stumps  called  the  garden,  and 
then,  leaving  the  clear  written  dust,  it  had 
turned  aside,  and  seemed  to  end  at  a  weed- 
covered  mound,  about  which  were  several  small 
holes  that  went  in,  not  downward,  but  at  a  level. 
239 


The  Kangaroo  Rat 

(Yes,  of  course,  another  pretty  mystery  nearly, 
gone.  How  sharp  the  flints  are  on  this  upland 
path ! )  I  set  a  trap  by  these  holes,  and  next 
morning  I  had  surely  caught  my  "  fairy."  Just 
the  loveliest,  daintiest  fawn-brown  little  creature 
that  ever  was  seen  in  fur :  large  beautiful  eyes 
like  a  Fawn's — no,  not  like  a  Fawn's,  for  no  Fawn 
that  ever  lived  had  such  wonderfully  innocent 
orbs  of  liquid  brown,  ears  like  thinnest  shells  of 
the  sea,  showing  the  pink  veins'  flood  of  life. 
His  hind  feet  were  large  and  strong;  but  his 
fore  feet — his  hands,  I  mean — were  the  tiniest 
of  the  tiny,  pinky  white  and  rounded  and 
dimpled,  just  like  a  baby's,  only  whiter  and 
smaller  than  the  tip  of  baby's  smallest  finger. 
His  throat  and  breast  were  snowy  white.  How- 
ever does  he  keep  himself  so  sweetly  clean  in 
such  a  land  of  mud!  Down  the  outside  of  his 
brown  velvet  knickerbockers  was  the  cutest 
little  silvery- white  stripe,  just  like  that  on  a 
trooper's  breeches.  His  tail,  the  train  that  I 
suppose  the  page  carried  in  dancing,  was  re- 
markably long,  and  was  decorated  to  match  the 
breeches  with  two  long  white  stripes,  and  ended 
in  a  feather  duster,  which  was  very  pretty  but 
240 


The  Kangaroo  Rat 

rather  overdone,  I  thought,  until  I  found  out  that 
it  was  designed  for  several  important  purposes. 

His  movements  were  just  like  what  one  might 
have  expected  from  such  an  elegant  creature. 
He  had  touched  my  heart  before  I  had  seen 
anything  but  his  tracks,  and  now  he  won  it 
wholly  at  first  meeting. 

"You  little  beauty!  You  have  been  so  in- 
visible and  mysterious  that  I  began  to  hope  you 
were  a  fairy,  but  now  I  see  I  have  heard  of  you 
before.  You  are  Perodipus  ordi,  that  is  some- 
times called  the  Kangaroo  Rat.  I. am  much 
obliged  to  you  for  all  the  lace  designs  you  have 
sketched  and  for  the  pretty  verses  you  have 
written  for  me,  although  I  could  not  read  them 
all ;  but  I  am  eager  to  have  you  translate  them, 
and,  in  fact,  am  ready  to  sit  at  those  micro- 
scopic and  beautiful  feet  of  yours  and  learn." 


II 


IT  is  of  course  well  known  that  the  daintiest 
flowers  grow  out  of  the  dirt,  so  I  was  not  sur- 
prised to  find  that  the  Perodipus's  home  is  in 
a  cave  underground.  No  doubt  those  wonder- 
241 


The  Kangaroo  Rat 

ful  eyes  and  long  feelers  were  to  help  him  in 
the  unlighted  corridors  of  his  subterranean 
house. 

It  may  seem  a  ruthless  deed,  but  I  was  so 
eager  to  know  him  better  that  I  determined  to 
open  his  nest  to  the  light  of  day  as  well  as  keep 
him  a  prisoner  for  a  time,  to  act  as  my  professor 
in  Natural  History. 

I  transferred  the  plush-clad  atom  of  life  to  a 
large  box  that  was  lined  with  tin  and  half  full 
of  loose  earth.  Then  I  went  out  with  a  spade, 
carefully  to  follow  and  pry  into  the  secrets  of  the 
Brownie  world  of  which  my  captive  was  a  native. 

First  I  made  a  scaled  diagram  of  the  land- 
scape concerned,  for  science  is  measurement, 
and  exact  knowledge  was  what  I  had  sought 
since  I  made  my  choice  of  trails.  Then  I 
sketched  the  plants  on  the  low  mound.  There 
were  three  large,  prickly  thistles,  and  two 
vigorous  Spanish  bayonets,  or  soapweeds,  all  of 
them  dangerous  to  an  unwary  intruder.  Next, 
I  noticed  there  were  nine  gateways.  Nine — I 
wonder  why  nine.  Nine  Muses?  Nine  lives? 
No,  nothing  of  that  sort  (Perodipus  does  not  live 
in  the  clouds).  There  were  nine  simply  because 
242 


The  Kangaroo  Rat 

in  this  case  there  happened  to  be  nine  direct 
approaches  to  this  Perodipus's  citadel.  Another 
might  have  had  three,  or  yet  another  twenty- 
three  entries,  according  to  the  needs  of  its 
owner  or  the  locality. 

Over  each  of  the  nine  holes  was  a  strong, 
spine-armed  sentinel  forever  on  guard  and  ab- 
solutely unbuyable,  so  that  if  at  any  time  the 
Coyote — the  Satan  of  the  little  prairie-folk — 
should  appear  among  the  moonlight  dancers, 
each  could  dash  homeward  and  enter  by  a  handy 
door,  sure  that  there  would  be  standing  by  that 
door  a  fearless,  well-armed  warden,  who  would 
say  to  the  Coyote,  in  a  language  he  would  well  un- 
derstand, "  Stop!  Keep  off,  or  I'll  spear  you!  " 

And  I  feel  very  sure  now  that  if  an  accident 
had  opened  a  new  approach,  say  in  the  direc- 
tion of  A,  the  wise  little  creature  would  also 
have  made  a  handy  door  there  for  his  own  use. 
The  Spanish  bayonet  could  also  keep  the  cattle 
and  other  heavy  animals  from  trampling  the 
mound,  and  when  at  night  the  Perodipus  was 
making  a  dash  for  home  with  some  fleet  foe 
behind  him,  the  tall,  dark  form  of  the  friendly 
bayonet  would  be  his  landmark  in  the  uncertain 
243 


The  Kangaroo  Rat 

light.  In  summer-time,  I  now  remembered, 
when  other  plants  were  not  dead,  as  at  present, 
the  bayonet,  in  its  sombre  evergreen,  would  be 
a  poor  landmark  by  night ;  but  it  meets  the  new 
necessity  in  a  splendid  way.  Out  of  its  bristling 
topmost  serried  spears  it  sends  far  up  into  the 
purple  night  a  wondrous  candelabrum  on  a 
towering  pole,  with  flowers  of  shining  white, 
that  must  loom  up  afar,  like  some  new  constel- 
lation in  the  sky.  And  so  the  Perodipus's  safety- 
port  is  lighthoused  day  and  night. 

I  began  carefully  to  open  up  the  main  gallery 
to  the  home  of  my  moonlight  dancer,  and  had 
not  gone  very  far  when  I  came  on  something 
that  made  me  jump ;  nothing  less  than  a  fero- 
cious-looking reptile— the  Huajalote,  that  the 
Mexicans  hold  in  superstitious  and  mortal  dread, 
the  Amblystoma  of  scientists.  It  was  only  a 
small  one,  but  it  gave  me  the  creeps  to  see  him 
lashing  his  venomous-looking  tail  and  oozing 
all  over  with  a  poisonous  slime.  If  he  could 
affect  me  so  much,  what  might  he  be  like  to  the 
gentle  little  Perodipus,  whose  home  he  seemed 
trying  to  raid?  But  for  some  reason  that  I  did 
not  understand  then,  the  reptile  was  boring  his 
244 


Jk, 


A  Ferocious-looking  Reptile. 


The  Kangaroo  Rat 

nose  into  a  solid  bank  of  sand  that  was  the  end 
of  the  gallery  he  had  entered  by.  Since  we 
were  all  playing  "fairy-tale,"  I,  the  Giant,  did 
not  hesitate  to  put  the  Dragon  where  he  could 
harm  the  fairies  no  longer. 

After  hours  of  patient  digging  and  measuring 
I  got  a  map  of  the  underground  world  where 
the  Perodipus  passes  the  daytime. 

The  central  chamber  could  be  nearly  reached 
by  any  of  the  entrances,  but  one  not  knowing 
the  secret  would  have  passed  by  and  come 
out  into  the  air  again  at  another  door.  No 
matter  how  often  he  went  in,  he  never  would 
have  found  the  nest  or  any  of  the  real  treasure 
of  the  home,  for  the  road  to  the  nest  was  plugged 
with  earth  each  time  the  owner  left  it. 

And  this  is  exactly  what  happened  to  the 
Huajalote;  for  he  seemed  to  have  an  idea  that 
there  was  a  secret  passage  if  he  only  could  find  it, 
and  no  doubt  thought  it  was  somewhere  through 
the  bank  of  earth  he  was  boring  into,  though 
really  he  was  not  anywhere  near  to  the  spot. 

I  think  the  chamber  was  not  shut  off  from 

the  air,  for  the  small  round  hole  X  (see  page 

243)  was,  I  suspect,  its  air-shaft,  though  I  am 

247 


The  Kangaroo  Rat 

not  sure  of  this,  for  the  roof  caved  in  before  I 
could  examine  it  fully. 

The  chamber  itself  was  very  large,  being 
twelve  inches  long  and  eight  inches  wide,  with 
a  high  vaulted  roof  at  least  over  five  inches 
from  the  floor,  and  ribbed  with  the  living  roots 
of  the  grand  old  bayonet-trees  at  the  door. 
Having  discovered  the  entry  to  it,  I  thought  I 
was  in  the  nest;  but  not  so.  I  was  stopped 
now  by  a  mass  of  interlaced,  spiny  grasses  that 
would  probably  have  turned  the  Huajalote  had 
he  gotten  so  far.  After  I  had  forced  my  way 
through  this  I  found  that  the  real  entrance  was 
cleverly  hidden  near  a  corner.  Then  there  was 
a  thick  felting  of  fine  grass  and  weed  silk,  and 
inside  of  all  a  lining  of  softest  feathers.  I  think 
that  every  gay  little  Bird  on  the  plains  must 
have  contributed  one  of  its  finest  feathers  to 
that  nest,  for  it  was  as  soft  and  pretty  and  warm 
as  it  should  have  been  for  the  cradle  of  those 
pinky-white  seed-pearls  that  the  Perodipus's 
babies  are  when  first  they  come  from  the  land 
of  the  Stars  and  the  Stork  into  their  under- 
ground home. 

Down  in  one  corner  of  this  Great  Hall  I 
248 


The  Kangaroo  Rat 

found  signs  of  another  secret  passage.  It  was 
like  exploring  a  mediaeval  castle.  This  passage 
went  down  at  a  slant  when  I  got  fairly  into  it, 
and  before  long  it  opened  out  into  a  large  store- 
house that  was  filled  with  over  a  pint  of  seeds 
of  the  prairie  sunflower.  This  room  was  sunken 
deepest  of  all  in  the  ground,  and  was  also  in 
the  shadiest  part  of  the  mound,  so  that  the  seed 
would  be  in  no  danger  of  heating  or  sprouting. 
At  one  end  of  this  chamber  was  another  blind 
lead  that  possibly  was  used  in  filling  the  ware- 
house and  afterward  sealed  up  for  safety.  There 
were  many  of  these  blind  alleys.  They  ap- 
peared to  be  either  entrances  plugged  up  or  else 
deliberate  plans  to  mislead  an  intruder  who  did 
not  have  the  key  to  the  secret  door. 

Yet  one  more  chamber  was  found,  and  that 
was  a  second  storehouse,  a  reserve  supply  of 
carefully  selected  helianthus  seeds,  about  half  a 
gill  of  them,  and  yet  not  a  bad  one  or  a  shriv- 
elled one  was  to  be  found  in  the  lot. 

But  I  did  not  find  any  of  the  Perodipus  family, 
and  think  it  possible  that  when  they  heard  my 
rude  approach  they  all  escaped  by  some  other 
secret  passage  that  I  failed  to  discover. 
249 


The  Kangaroo  Rat 

This  was  the  home  of  my  nightly  visitor, 
planned  and  carried  out  with  wisdom  for  all  the 
straits  of  his  daily  life  and  near  future. 

Ill 

ITS  owner  in  the  cage  I  now  watched  with 
double  interest.  He  was  the  embodiment  of 
restless  energy,  palpitating  with  life  from  the 
tip  of  his  translucent  nose  and  ears  to  the  end 
of  his  vibrant  tail.  He  could  cross  the  box  at 
a  single  bound,  and  I  now  saw  the  purpose  of 
his  huge  tail.  In  the  extraordinary  long  flying 
leaps  that  Perodipus  makes,  the  tuft  on  the  end 
does  for  him  what  the  feathers  do  for  an  arrow. 
It  keeps  him  straight  in  the  air  on  his  tra- 
jectory. But  it  does  more,  for  it  enables  him 
slightly  to  change  his  course  if  he  finds  it  wiser 
after  he  has  leaped.  And  the  tail  itself  has 
other  uses.  The  Perodipus  has  no  pocket  in 
his  striped  trousers  to  carry  home 'his  winter  sup- 
plies, but  he  has  capacious  pockets,  one  in  each 
cheek,  which  he  can  fill  till  they  bulge  out 
wider  than  himself — so  wide  that  he  must  turn 
his  head  sidewise  to  enter  his  own  front  gate. 
250 


The  Kangaroo  Rat 

Such  a  load  added  to  his  head  totally  displaces 
his  centre  of  gravity,  which  is  adjusted  for 
leaping  with  empty  pockets.  But  here  is  where 
the  tail  comes  in.  Its  great  length  and  size 
make  it  a  powerful  lever,  and  by  raising  it  to 
different  angles  he  accommodates  himself  to  his 
load  and  leaps  along  in  perfect  poise  in  spite  of 
a  week's  provision  in  his  cheeks. 

He  was  the  most  indefatigable  little  miner 
that  I  ever  saw.  Those  pinky-white  paws, 
not  much  larger  than  a  pencil-point,  seemed 
never  weary  of  digging,  and  would  send  the 
earth  out  between  his  hind  legs  in  little  jets  like 
a  steam-shovel.  He  seemed  tireless  at  his  work. 
He  first  tunnelled  the  whole  mass  through  and 
through,  and,  I  doubt  not,  made  and  unmade 
several  ideal  underground  residences,  and  solved 
many  problems  of  rapid  underground  transit. 
Then  he  embarked  in  some  landscape-gardening 
schemes  and  made  it  his  nightly  business  to 
change  entirely  the  geography  of  his  whole 
country,  laboriously  making  hills  and  canons 
wheresoever  seemed  unto  him  good. 

There  was  one  landscape  effect  that  he  seemed 
very  fond  of.  That  was  a  sort  of  Colorado 
251 


The  Kangaroo  Rat 

Canon  with  the  San  Francisco  Mountain  on  its 
edge.  He  tried  a  long  time  to  use  a  certain 
large  stone  for  a  peak  to  his  mountain,  but  it 
was  past  his  strength,  and  he  resented,  rather 
than  profited  by,  any  help  I  gave  him.  This 
stone  gave  him  endless  trouble  for  a  time.  He 
could  not  use  it,  nor  even  get  rid  of  it,  until  he 
discovered  that  he  could  at  least  dig  the  earth 
from  under  it,  and  so  keep  it  going  down,  until 
finally  it  settled  at  the  bottom  of  the  box  and 
troubled  him  no  more. 

He  used  to  take  a  lot  of  comfort  out  of  jump- 
ing clear  from  the  top  of  the  Frisco  Peak 
across  the  Grand  Canon  into  Utah  (two  hun- 
dred miles),  at  the  other  side  of  the  box,  and 
back  home  again  to  the  Peak  (six  thousand 
feet). 

I  watched,  sketched,  and  studied  him  as 
well  as  I  could,  considering  his  shyness  and 
nocturnal  habits,  and  I  learned  daily  to  admire 
him  more.  His  untiring  devotion  to  his  nightly 
geographical  lesson  was  marvellous.  His  talent 
for  heaving  up  new  mountain-ranges  was  aston- 
ishing, positively  volcanic.  When  first  I  sus- 
pected his  existence,  I  had  been  willing  to  call 
252 


The  Kangaroo  Rat 

him  a  fairy.  When  I  saw  him  I  said,  "  Why, 
it's  only  a  Kangaroo  Rat."  But  after  I  had 
watched  him  a  couple  of  weeks  in  the  cage  I 
realized  fully  that  millions  of  little  creatures 
with  such  energy,  working  for  thousands  of 
years,  could  not  but  change  the  whole  surface 
of  a  country,  by  letting  in  the  frost  and  rain,  as 
well  as  by  their  own  work.  Then  I  was  obliged 
to  concede  that  Perodipus  was  more  than  Rat 
or  Brownie ;  he  was  nothing  less  than  a  Geo- 
logical Epoch. 

P 

IV 

THERE  was  one  more  lesson,  a  great  surprise, 
in  store  for  me.  It  is  well  known  to  scientists 
that  the  common  House-mouse  has  a  song  not 
unlike  that  of  some  Birds.  Occasionally  gifted 
individuals  are  found  that  fill  our  closet  or 
cellar  with  midnight  music  that  a  Canary  might 
be  proud  of.  Further  investigations  have  shown 
that  the  common  Deer-mouse  of  the  Eastern 
woods  also  is  a  gifted  vocalist. 

Now,  any  cow-boy  on  the  upland  plains  will 
tell  you  that  at  night,  when  sleeping  out,  he  has 
253 


The  Kangaroo  Rat 

•often  heard  the  most  curious  strains  of  birdy 
music  in  his  half -awakening  hours, — a  soft, 
sweet  twittering  song  with  trills  and  deeper 
notes, — and  if  he  thought  about  it  at  all  he  set 
it  down  to  some  small  Bird  singing  in  its  dreams, 
or  accepted  his  comrade's  unexplanatory  ex- 
planation that  it  was  one  of  those  "prairie 
nightingales."  But  what  that  was  he  did  not 
trouble  himself  to  know. 

I  have  often  heard  the  strange  night  song, 
but  not  being  able  to  trace  it  home,  I  set  it 
down  to  some  little  Bird  that  was  too  happy  to 
express  it  all  in  daylight  hours. 

Several  times  at  night  I  overheard  from  my 
captive  a  long-drawn  note,  before  it  dawned  on 
me  that  this  was  the  same  voice  as  that  which 
often  sings  to  the  rising  moon.  I  did  not  hear 
him  really  sing,  I  am  sorry  to  say.  I  have  no 
final  proof.  My  captive  was  not  seeking  to 
amuse  me.  Indeed,  his  attitude  toward  me 
from  first  to  last  was  one  of  unbending  scorn. 
I  can  only  say  I  think  (and  hope)  that  it  was  the 
same  voice.  But  my  allegiance  is  due  to  exact 
science.  Oh,  why  did  I  not  take  the  other  trail? 
For  then  I  should  have  been  able  to  announce 
254 


The  Kangaroo  Rat 


here,  as  now  I  do  not  dare  to,  that  the  sweet 
night  singer  of  the  plains  and  the  plush-clad  fairy 
that  nightly  danced  about  my  door  are  the  same. 

But  one  night  there  was  a  fresh  upheaval  of 
Nature,  and  my  Immeasurable  Force  tried  a 
new  experiment  in  terrestrial  convulsions.  He 
started  his  mountain,  not  in  the  middle  of  his 
kingdom,  as  aforetime,  but  afar  to  the  south- 
west, in  one  corner  of  the  box,  and  a  notable 
mountain  he  made.  He  simply  ruined  the 
Grand  Canon  to  use  the  material  of  its  walls. 

Higher  and  higher  those  tiny  pink  pawlets 
piled  the  beetling  crags,  and  the  dizzy  peak 
arose  above  the  sinking  plain  as  it  never  had 
before. 

It  went  up  fast,  too,  for  it  was  in  the  angle 
of  the  box,  and  it  was  rapidly  nearing  the 
heaven  of  heavens  represented  by  the  lid, 
when  an  accident  turned  the  current  of  the 
Perodipus's  ambitions.  He  was  now  at  an  al- 
titude that  he  had  never  before  reached  since 
his  imprisonment,  so  high  that  he  could  touch 
the  narrow  strip  of  the  wooden  walls  that  was 
unprotected  by  the  tin.  The  new  substance 
tempted  his  teeth.  Oh,  new-found  joy!  it  was 


The  Kangaroo  Rat 

easy  to  cut.  He  set  to  work  with  his  usual 
energy,  and  in  a  very  short  time  cut  his  way 
through  the  half-inch  pine,  then  escaped  from 
the  tin-clad  kingdom  that  had  been  forced  upon 
him,  and  its  Geological  Epoch  was  gone.  My 
professor  had  quit  his  chair.  I  had  been  willing 
to  find  an  impossible  mystery,  but  I  had  found 
a  delightful  story  from  Nature's  wonderland. 


AND  now  he  is  once  more  skimming  merrily 
over  the  mud  and  sands  of  the  upland  plains ; 
shooting  across  the  open  like  a  living,  feathered 
arrow ;  tempting  the  rash  Coyote  to  thrust  his 
unfortunate  nose  into  those  awful  cactus  brakes, 
or  teaching  the  Prairie  Owls  that  if  they  do  not 
let  him  alone  they  will  surely  come  to  grief  on 
a  Spanish  bayonet ;  coming  out  by  night  again 
to  scribble  his  lacework  designs  on  the  smooth 
places,  to  write  verses  of  measured  rhythm,  or 
to  sing  and  play  hop-scotch  in  the  moonlight 
with  his  merry  crew. 

Soft  as  a  shadow,  swift  as  an  arrow,  dainty  as 
thistle-down,  bright-eyed  and  beautiful,  with  a 
256 


Shooting  Across  the  Open  Like  an  Arrow. 


The  Kangaroo  Rat 


secret  way  to  an  underground  world  where  he 
finds  safety  from  his  foes— my  first  impression 
was  not  so  very  far  astray.  I  had  surely  found 
the  Little  Folk,  and  nearer,  better,  and  more 
human  Little  Folk  than  any  in  the  nursery 
books.  My  chosen  flinty  track  had  led  me  on 
to  Upper  Arcadie  at  last.  And  now,  when  I 
hear  certain  purblind  folk  talk  of  Fairies  and 
Brownies  as  a  race  peculiar  to  the  romantic 
parts  of  England,  Ireland,  or  India,  I  think: 

"  You  have  been  wasting  your  time  reading 
books.  You  have  never  been  on  the  shifting 
Currumpaw  when  the  moon  of  the  Mesas  comes 
up  to  glint  the  river  at  its  every  bend,  and  bathe 
the  hills  in  green  and  veil  the  shades  in  blue. 
You  have  not  heard  the  moonlight  music.  You 
have  not  seen  these  moonbeams  skip  from 
thistle-top  and  bayonet-spear  to  rest  in  peace  at 
last,  as  by  appointment,  on  the  smooth-swept 
dancing-floor  of  a  tiny  race  that  visits  this  earth 
each  night,  coming  from  nowhere,  and  disap- 
pearing without  a  sound  of  falling  feet. 

"  You  have  never  seen  this,  for  you  have  not 
found  the  key  to  the  secret  chamber;  and  if 
you  did,  you  still  might  doubt,  for  the  dainty 
259 


The  Kangaroo  Rat 

moonlight  revellers  have  coats  of  darkness  and 
become  invisible  at  will. 

"  Indeed,  I  believe  you  would  say  the  whole 
thing  was  a  dream.  But  what  about  the  lace 
traceries  in  the  dust?  They  are  there  when  the 
sun  comes  up  next  morning." 


%\ 
•  .    •    1 


' f  «    - 

.  .  *      t  <  « 


* 

V 


260 


Tempting  the  Rash  Coyote. 


rft\  r^\  T&\  rf\j^ 


Tito* 

The  Story  of  the  Coyote  that  Learned  How 


Tltc: 

The  Story  of  the  Coyote  that  Learned  How 


RAINDROP  may  deflect  a 
thunderbolt,  or  a  hair  may 
ruin  an  empire,  as  surely  as 
a  spider-web  once  turned 
the  history  of  Scotland; 
and  if  it  had  not  been  for 
one  little  pebble,  this  his- 
tory of  Tito  might  never  have  happened. 

That  pebble  was  lying  on  a  trail  in  the  Da- 
kota Badlands,  and  one  hot,  dark  night  it  lodged 
in  the  foot  of  a  Horse  that  was  ridden  by  a  tipsy 
cow-boy.  The  man  got  off,  as  a  matter  of  habit, 
to  know  what  was  laming  his  Horse.  But  he 
left  the  reins  on  its  neck  instead  of  on  the 
ground,  and  the  Horse,  taking  advantage  of  this 
265 


Tito 

technicality,  ran  off  in  the  darkness.     Then  the 
-1'   irtlfl    cow-boy,  realizing  that  he  was  afoot,  lay  down 
in  a  hollow  under  some  buffalo-bushes  and  slept 
1, '    the  loggish  sleep  of  the  befuddled. 

THE  golden  beams  of  the  early  summer  sun 
were  leaping  from  top  to  top  of  the  wonderful 
Badland  Buttes,  when  an  old  Coyote  might 
have  been  seen  trotting  homeward  along  the 
Garner's  Creek  Trail  with  a  Rabbit  in  her  jaws 
to  supply  her  family's  breakfast. 

Fierce  war  had  for  a  long  time  been  waged 
against  the  Coyote  kind  by  the  cattlemen  of 
Billings  County.  Traps,  guns,  poison,  and 
Hounds  had  reduced  their  number  nearly  to 
zero,  and  the  few  survivors  had  learned  the 
bitter  need  of  caution  at  every  step.  But  the 
destructive  ingenuity  of  man  knew  no  bounds, 
and  their  numbers  continued  to  dwindle. 

The  old  Coyote  quit  the  trail  very  soon,  for 
nothing  that  man  has  made  is  friendly.  She 
skirted  along  a  low  ridge,  then  across  a  little 
hollow  where  grew  a  few  buffalo-bushes,  and, 
after  a  careful  sniff  at  a  very  stale  human  trail- 
scent,  she  crossed  another  near  ridge  on  whose 
266 


Tito 

sunny  side  was  the  home  of  her  brood.  Again 
she  cautiously  circled,  peered  about,  and  sniffed, 
but,  finding  no  sign  of  danger,  went  down  to 
the  doorway  and  uttered  a  low  woof-woof.  Out 
of  the  den,  beside  a  sage-bush,  there  poured  a 
procession  of  little  Coyotes,  merrily  tumbling 
over  one  another.  Then,  barking  little  barks 
and  growling  little  puppy  growls,  they  fell  upon 
the  feast  that  their  mother  had  brought,  and 
gobbled  and  tussled  while  she  looked  on  and 
enjoyed  their  joy. 

Wolver  Jake,  the  cow-boy,  had  awakened 
from  his  chilly  sleep  about  sunrise,  in  time  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  Coyote  passing  over  the 
ridge.  As  soon  as  she  was  out  of  sight  he  got 
on  his  feet  and  went  to  the  edge,  there  to  wit- 
ness the  interesting  scene  of  the  family  break- 
fasting and  frisking  about  within  a  few  yards  of 
him,  utterly  unconscious  of  any  danger. 

But  the  only  appeal  the  scene  had  to  him  lay 
in  the  fact  that  the  county  had  set  a  price  on 
every  one  of  these  Coyotes'  lives.  So  he  got 
out  his  big  .45  navy  revolver,  and  notwith- 
standing his  shaky  condition,  he  managed 
somehow  to  get  a  sight  on  the  mother  as  she 
367 


Tito 


was  caressing  one  of  the  little  ones  that  had 
finished  its  breakfast,  and  shot  her  dead  on  the 
spot. 

The  terrified  cubs  fled  into  the  den,  and  Jake, 
failing  to  kill  another  with  his  revolver,  came 
forward,  blocked  up  the  hole  with  stones,  and 
leaving  the  seven  little  prisoners  quaking  at  the 
far  end,  set  off  on  foot  for  the  nearest  ranch, 
cursing  his  faithless  Horse  as  he  went. 

In  the  afternoon  he  returned  with  his  pard 
and  tools  for  digging.  The  little  ones  had 
cowered  all  day  in  the  darkened  hole,  wonder- 
ing why  their  mother  did  not  come  to  feed  them, 
wondering  at  the  darkness  and  the  change.  But 
late  that  day  they  heard  sounds  at  the  door. 
Then  light  was  again  let  in.  Some  of  the  less 
cautious  young  ones  ran  forward  to  meet  their 
mother,  but  their  mother  was  not  there — only 
two  great  rough  brutes  that  began  tearing  open 
their  home. 

After  an  hour  or  more  the  diggers  came  to 
the  end  of  the  den,  and  here  were  the  woolly, 
bright-eyed,  little  ones,  all  huddled  in  a  pile  at 
the  farthest  corner.  Their  innocent  puppy 
faces  and  ways  were  not  noticed  by  the  huge 
268 


V*    f 

Tito  ^ 

enemy.      One  by  one   they  were  seized.     A  \  v   ,/ 

sharp   blow,  and   each   quivering,  limp   form  vt,' 

was  thrown  into  a  sack  to  be  carried  to  the  ix^uwa,^ 

nearest  magistrate  who  was  empowered  to  pay  \i*  *  / 

the  bounties.  v  '/ 

Even  at  this  age  there  was  a  certain  individ-  .  ^    w     s. 

uality  of  character  among  the  puppies.     Some  y  ft  J 

of  them  squealed  and  some  of  them  growled  \V  »/ 

when  dragged  out  to  die.     One  or  two  tried  to  .v    ty 

bite.  The  one  that  had  been  slowest  to  com- 
prehend the  danger,  had  been  the  last  to  retreat, 
and  so  was  on  top  of  the  pile,  and  therefore  the 
first  killed.  The  one  that  had  first  realized  the 
peril  had  retreated  first,  and  now  crouched  at 
the  bottom  of  the  pile.  Coolly  and  remorse- 
lessly the  others  were  killed  one  by  one,  and  i\ /-*•*»  -i 
then  this  prudent  little  puppy  was  seen  to  be  \,  Si  y 
the  last  of  the  family.  It  lay  perfectly  still, 
even  when  touched,  its  eyes  being  half  closed, 
as,  guided  by  instinct,  it  tried  to  "  play  possum." 
One  of  the  men  picked  it  up.  It  neither 
squealed  nor  resisted.  Then  Jake,  realizing 
ever  the  importance  of  "standing  in  with  the  .s^ 
boss,"  said:  "Say,  let's  keep  that  'un  for  the  X-J 
children."  So  the  last  of  the  family  was  thrown  V 
269 


V 


Tito 

alive  into  the  same  bag  with  its  dead  brothers, 
and,  bruised  and  frightened,  lay  there  very  still, 
understanding  nothing,  knowing  only  that  after 
a  long  time  of  great  noise  and  cruel  jolting  it 
was  again  half  strangled  by  a  grip  on  its  neck 
and  dragged  out,  where  were  a  lot  of  creatures 
h'ke  the  diggers. 

These  were  really  the  inhabitants  of  the 
Chimney-pot  Ranch,  whose  brand  is  the  Broad- 
arrow ;  and  among  them  were  the  children  for 
whom  the  cub  had  been  brought.  The  boss 
had  no  difficulty  in  getting  Jake  to  accept 
the  dollar  that  the  cub  Coyote  would  have 
brought  in  bounty-money,  and  his  present  was 
turned  over  to  the  children.  In  answer  to  their 
question,  "What  is  it?"  a  Mexican  cow-hand 
present  said  it  was  a  Coyotito, — that  is,  a  "  little 
Coyote," — and  this,  afterward  shortened  to 
"Tito,"  became  the  captive's  name. 

II 

TITO  was  a  pretty  little  creature,  with  woolly 
body,  a  puppy-like  expression,  and  a  head  that 
was  singularly  broad  between  the  ears. 
270 


Coyotito,  the  Captive. 


Tito 


But,  as  a  children's  pet,  she— for  it  proved 
to  be  a  female — was  not  a  success.  She  was 
distant  and  distrustful.  She  ate  her  food  and 
seemed  healthy,  but  never  responded  to  friendly 
advances ;  never  even  learned  to  come  out  of 
the  box  when  called.  This  probably  was  due 
to  the  fact  that  the  kindness  of  the  small  chil- 
dren was  offset  by  the  roughness  of  the  men 
and  boys,  who  did  not  hesitate  to  drag  her  out 
by  the  chain  when  they  wished  to  see  her.  On 
these  occasions  she  .would  suffer  in  silence, 
playing  possum,  shamming  dead,  for  she  seemed 
to  know  that  that  was  the  best  thing  to  do.  But 
as  soon  as  released  she  would  once  more  retire 
into  the  darkest  corner  of  her  box,  and  watch 
her  tormentors  with  eyes  that,  at  the  proper 
angle,  showed  a  telling  glint  of  green. 

Among  the  children  of  the  ranchmen  was  a 
thirteen-year-old  boy.  The  fact  that  he  grew 
up  to  be  like  his  father,  a  kind,  strong,  and 
thoughtful  man,  did  not  prevent  him  being,  at 
this  age,  a  shameless  little  brute. 

Like  all  boys  in  that  country,  he  practised 
lasso-throwing,  with  a  view  to  being  a  cow-boy. 
Posts  and  stumps  are  uninteresting  things  to 
273 


Tito 

catch.  His  little  brothers  and  sisters  were  under 
special  protection  of  the  Home  Government. 
The  Dogs  ran  far  away  whenever  they  saw  him 
coming  with  the  rope  in  his  hands.  So  he  must 
needs  practise  on  the  unfortunate  Coyotito.  She 
soon  learned  that  her  only  hope  for  peace  was 
to  hide  in  the  kennel,  or,  if  thrown  at  when 
outside,  to  dodge  the  rope  by  lying  as  flat  as  pos- 
sible on  the  ground.  Thus  Lincoln  unwittingly 
taught  the  Coyote  the  dangers  and  limitations 
of  a  rope,  and  so  he  proved  a  blessing  in  dis- 
guise— a  very  perfect  disguise.  When  the 
Coyote  had  thoroughly  learned  how  to  baffle 
the  lasso,  the  boy  terror  devised  a  new  amuse- 
ment. He  got  a  large  trap  of  the  kind  known 
as  "  Fox-size."  This  he  set  in  the  dust  as  he 
had  seen  Jake  set  a  Wolf-trap,  close  to  the 
kennel,  and  over  it  he  scattered  scraps  of  meat, 
in  the  most  approved  style  for  Wolf-trapping. 
After  a  while  Tito,  drawn  by  the  smell  of  the 
meat,  came  hungrily  sneaking  out  toward  it, 
and  almost  immediately  was  caught  in  the  trap 
by  one  foot.  The  boy  terror  was  watching 
from  a  near  hiding-place.  He  gave  a  wild 
Indian  whoop  of  delight,  then  rushed  forward 
274 


Tito 

to  drag  the  Coyote  out  of  the  box  into  which 
she  had  retreated.  After  some  more  delightful 
thrills  of  excitement  and  struggle  he  got  his  lasso 
on  Tito's  body,  and,  helped  by  a  younger  bro- 
ther, a  most  promising  pupil,  he  succeeded  in 
setting  the  Coyote  free  from  the  trap  before  the 
grown-ups  had  discovered  his  amusement.  One 
or  two  experiences  like  this  taught  her  a  mortal 
terror  of  traps.  She  soon  learned  the  smell  of 
the  steel,  and  could  detect  and  avoid  it,  no 
matter  how  cleverly  Master  Lincoln  might  bury 
it  in  the  dust,  while  the  younger  brother  screened 
the  operation  from  the  intended  victim  by  hold- 
ing his  coat  over  the  door  of  Tito's  kennel. 

One  day  the  fastening  of  her  chain  gave  way, 
and  Tito  went  off  in  an  uncertain  fashion,  trail- 
ing her  chain  behind  her.  But  she  was  seen  by 
one  of  the  men,  who  fired  a  charge  of  bird-shot 
at  her.  The  burning,  stinging,  and  surprise  of 
it  all  caused  her  to  retreat  to  the  one  place  she 
knew,  her  own  kennel.  The  chain  was  fastened 

again,  and  Tito  added  to  her  ideas  this,  a  hor-  ^ 

ror  of  guns  and  the  smell  of  gunpowder;  and 
this  also,  that  the  one  safety  from  them  is  to 
"lay  low." 

275 


There  were  yet  other  rude  experiences  in 
store  for  the  captive. 

Poisoning  Wolves  was  a  topic  of  daily  talk  at 
the  Ranch,  so  it  was  not  surprising  that  Lincoln 
should  privately  experiment  on  Coyotito.  The 
deadly  strychnine  was  too  well  guarded  to  be 
available.  So  Lincoln  hid  some  Rough  on  Rats 
in  a  piece  of  meat,  threw  it  to  the  captive,  and 
sat  by  to  watch,  as  blithe  and  conscience-clear 
as  any  professor  of  chemistry  trying  a  new 
combination. 

Tito  smelled  the  meat — everything  had  to  be 
passed  on  by  her  nose.  Her  nose  was  in  doubt. 
There  was  a  good  smell  of  meat,  a  familiar  but 
unpleasant  smell  of  human  hands,  and  a  strange 
new  odor,  but  not  the  odor  of  the  trap ;  so  she 
bolted  the  morsel.  Within  a  few  minutes  she 
began  to  have  fearful  pains  in  her  stomach,  fol- 
lowed by  cramps.  Now  in  all  the  Wolf  tribe 
there  is  the  instinctive  habit  to  throw  up  anything 
that  disagrees  with  them,  and  after  a  minute  or 
two  of  suffering  the  Coyote  sought  relief  in  this 
way ;  and  to  make  it  doubly  sure  she  hastily 
gobbled  some  blades  of  grass,  and  in  less  than 
an  hour  was  quite  well  again. 
276 


Tito 

Lincoln  had  put  in  poison  enough  for  a  dozen 
Coyotes.  Had  he  put  in  less  she  could  not 
have  felt  the  pang  till  too  late,  but  she  recovered 
and  never  forgot  that  peculiar  smell  that  means 
such  awful  after-pains.  More  than  that,  she 
was  ready  thenceforth  to  fly  at  once  to  the 
herbal  cure  that  Nature  had  everywhere  pro- 
vided. An  instinct  of  this  kind  grows  quickly, 
once  followed.  It  had  taken  minutes  of  suffering 
in  the  first  place  to  drive  her  to  the  easement. 
Thenceforth,  having  learned,  it  was  her  first 
thought  on  feeling  pain .  The  little  miscreant  did 
indeed  succeed  in  having  her  swallow  another 
bait  with  a  small  dose  of  poison,  but  she  knew 
what  to  do  now  and  had  almost  no  suffering. 

Later  on,  a  relative  sent  Lincoln  a  Bull-ter- 
rier, and  the  new  combination  was  a  fresh 
source  of  spectacular  interest  for  the  boy,  and 
of  tribulation  for  the  Coyote.  It  all  emphasized 
for  her  that  old  idea  to  "lay  low  " — that  is,  to 
be  quiet,  unobtrusive,  and  hide  when  danger 
is  in  sight.  The  grown-ups  of  the  household  at 
length  forbade  these  persecutions,  and  the  Ter- 
rier was  kept  away  from  the  little  yard  where 
the  Coyote  was  chained  up. 
277 


Ttto 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that,  in  all  this, 
Tito  was  a  sweet,  innocent  victim.  She  had 
learned  to  bite.  She  had  caught  and  killed 
several  chickens  by  shamming  sleep  while  they 
ventured  to  forage  within  the  radius  of  her 
chain.  And  she  had  an  inborn  hankering  to 
sing  a  morning  and  evening  hymn,  which  pro- 
cured for  her  many  beatings.  But  she  learned 
to  shut  up,  the  moment  her  opening  notes  were 
followed  by  a  rattle  of  doors  or  windows,  for 
these  sounds  of  human  nearness  had  frequently 
been  followed  by  a  "bang"  and  a  charge  of 
bird-shot,  which  somehow  did  no  serious  harm, 
though  it  severely  stung  her  hide.  And  these 
experiences  all  helped  to  deepen  her  terror  of 
guns  and  of  those  who  used  them.  The  object 
of  these  musical  outpourings  was  not  clear. 
They  happened  usually  at  dawn  or  dusk,  but 
sometimes  a  loud  noise  at  high  noon  would  set 
her  going.  The  song  consisted  of  a  volley  of 
short  barks,  mixed  with  doleful  squalls  that 
never  failed  to  set  the  Dogs  astir  in  a  responsive 
uproar,  and  once  or  twice  had  begotten  a  far- 
away answer  from  some  wild  Coyote  in  the  hills. 

There  was  one  little  trick  that  she  had  de- 
278 


Tito 

veloped  which  was  purely  instinctive — that  is, 

an  inherited  habit.     In  the  back  end  of  her 

kennel  she  had  a  little  cache  of  bones,  and  knew 

exactly  where  one  or  two  lumps  of  unsavory 

meat  were  buried  within  the  radius  of  her  chain, 

for  a  time  of  famine  which  never  came.     If  any 

one   approached    these   hidden    treasures   she 

watched  with  anxious  eyes,  but  made  no  other 

demonstration.     If  she  saw  that  the  meddler 

knew  the  exact  place,  she  took  an  early  oppor-  .»•—»•• 

tunity  to  secrete  them  elsewhere.  2»    ^jr"  M 

After  a  year  of  this  life  Tito  had  grown  to 
full  size,  and  had  learned  many  things  that  her 
wild  kinsmen  could  not  have  learned  without 
losing  their  lives  in  doing  it.  She  knew  and 
feared  traps.  She  had  learned  to  avoid  poison 
baits,  and  knew  what  to  do  at  once  if,  by  some 
mistake,  she  should  take  one.  She  knew  what 
guns  are.  She  had  learned  to  cut  her  morning 
and  evening  song  very  short.  She  had  some 
acquaintance  with  Dogs,  enough  to  make  her 
hate  and  distrust  them  all.  But,  above  all,  she 
had  this  idea:  whenever  danger  is  near,  the 
very  best  move  possible  is  to  lay  low,  be  very 
quiet,  do  nothing  to  attract  notice.  Perhaps 
279 


Tho 

the  little  brain  that  looked  out  of  those  chang- 
ing yellow  eyes  was  the  storehouse  of  much 
other  knowledge  about  men,  but  what  it  was 
did  not  appear. 

The  Coyote  was  fully  grown  when  the  boss 
of  the  outfit  bought  a  couple  of  thoroughbred 
Greyhounds,  wonderful  runners,  to  see  whether 
he  could  not  entirely  extirpate  the  remnant  of 
the  Coyotes  that  still  destroyed  occasional 
Sheep  and  Calves  on  the  range,  and  at  the  same 
time  find  amusement  in  the  sport.  He  was  tired 
of  seeing  that  Coyote  in  the  yard ;  so,  deciding 
to  use  her  for  training  the  Dogs,  he  had  her 
roughly  thrown  into  a  bag,  then  carried  a  quar- 
ter of  a  mile  away  and  dumped  out.  At  the 
same  time  the  Greyhounds  were  slipped  and 
chivvied  on.  Away  they  went  bounding  at 
their  matchless  pace,  that  nothing  else  on  four 
legs  could  equal,  and  away  went  the  Coyote, 
frightened  by  the  noise  of  the  men,  frightened 
even  to  find  herself  free.  Her  quarter-mile 
start  quickly  shrank  to  one  hundred  yards,  the 
one  hundred  to  fifty,  and  on  sped  the  flying 
Dogs.  Clearly  there  was  no  chance  for  her. 
On  and  nearer  they  came.  In  another  minute 
280 


Tito 

she  would  have  been  stretched  out — not  a 
doubt  of  it.  But  on  a  sudden  she  stopped, 
turned,  and  walked  toward  the  Dogs  with  her 
tail  serenely  waving  in  the  air  and  a  friendly 
cock  to  her  ears.  Greyhounds  are  peculiar 
Dogs.  Anything  that  runs  away,  they  are  going 
to  catch  and  kill  if  they  can.  Anything  that  is 
calmly  facing  them  becomes  at  once  a  non- 
combatant.  They  bounded  over  and  past  the 
Coyote  before  they  could  curb  their  own  im- 
petuosity, and  returned  completely  nonplussed. 
Possibly  they  recognized  the  Coyote  of  the 
house-yard  as  she  stood  there  wagging  her  tail. 
The  ranchmen  were  nonplussed  too.  Every 
one  was  utterly  taken  aback,  had  a  sense  of 
failure,  and  the  real  victor  in  the  situation  was 
felt  to  be  the  audacious  little  Coyote. 

The  Greyhounds  refused  to  attack  an  animal 
that  wagged  its  tail  and  would  not  run;  and 
the  men,  on  seeing  that  the  Coyote  could  walk 
far  enough  away  to  avoid  being  caught  by  hand, 
took  their  ropes  (lassoes),  and  soon  made  her  a 
prisoner  once  more. 

The  next  day  they  decided  to  try  again,  but 
this  time  they  added  the  white  Bull-terrier  to 
281 


Tito 


the  chasers.  The  Coyote  did  as  before.  The 
Greyhounds  declined  to  be  party  to  any  attack 
on  such  a  mild  and  friendly  acquaintance.  But 
the  Bull-terrier,  who  came  puffing  and  panting 
on  the  scene  three  minutes  later,  had  no  such 
scruples.  He  was  not  so  tall,  but  he  was  heavier 
than  the  Coyote,  and,  seizing  her  by  her  wool- 
protected  neck,  he  shook  her  till,  in  a  surpris- 
ingly short  time,  she  lay  limp  and  lifeless,  at 
which  all  the  men  seemed  pleased,  and  con- 
gratulated the  Terrier,  while  the  Greyhounds 
pottered  around  in  restless  perplexity. 

A  stranger  in  the  party,  a  newly  arrived  Eng- 
lishman, asked  if  he  might  have  the  brush,— 
the  tail,  he  explained, — and  on  being  told  to 
help  himself,  he  picked  up  the  victim  by  the 
tail,  and  with  one  awkward  chop  of  his  knife 
he  cut  it  off  at  the  middle,  and  the  Coyote 
dropped,  but  gave  a  shrill  yelp  of  pain.  She 
was  not  dead,  only  playing  possum,  and  now 
she  leaped  up  and  vanished  into  a  near-by 
thicket  of  cactus  and  sage. 

With  Greyhounds  a  running  animal  is  the 
signal  for  a  run,  so  the  two  long-legged  Dogs 
and  the  white,  broad-chested  Dog  dashed  after 
282 


Tho 

the  Coyote.  But  right  across  their  path,  by 
happy  chance,  there  flashed  a  brown  streak 
ridden  by  a  snowy  powder-puff,  the  visible  but 
evanescent  sign  for  Cottontail  Rabbit.  The 
Coyote  was  not  in  sight  now.  The  Rabbit 
was,  so  the  Greyhounds  dashed  after  the  Cot- 
tontail, who  took  advantage  of  a  Prairie-dog's 
hole  to  seek  safety  in  the  bosom  of  Mother 
Earth,  and  the  Coyote  made  good  her  escape. 

She  had  been  a  good  deal  jarred  by  the  rude 
treatment  of  the  Terrier,  and  her  mutilated  tail 
gave  her  some  pain.  But  otherwise  she  was 
all  right,  and  she  loped  lightly  away,  keeping 
out  of  sight  in  the  hollows,  and  so  escaped 
among  the  fantastic  buttes  of  the  Badlands,  to 
be  eventually  the  founder  of  a  new  life  among 
the  Coyotes  of  the  Little  Missouri. 

Moses  was  preserved  by  the  Egyptians  till  he 
had  outlived  the  dangerous  period,  and  learned 
from  them  wisdom  enough  to  be  the  savior  of 
his  people  against  those  same  Egyptians.  So 
the  bobtailed  Coyote  was  not  only  saved  by 
man  and  carried  over  the  dangerous  period  of 
puppyhood :  she  was  also  unwittingly  taught  by 
him  how  to  baffle  the  traps,  poisons,  lassos, 
283 


Tito 

guns,  and  Dogs  that  had  so  long  waged  a  war 
of  extermination  against  her  race. 


Ill 


THUS  Tito  escaped  from  man,  and  for  the  first 
time  found  herself  face  to  face  with  the  whole 
problem  of  life  ;  for  now  she  had  her  own  living 
to  get. 

A  wild  animal  has  three  sources  of  wisdom : 

First,  the  experience  of  its  ancestors,  in  the 
form  of  instinct,  which  is  inborn  learning,  ham- 
mered into  the  race  by  ages  of  selection  and 
tribulation.  This  is  the  most  important  to 
begin  with,  because  it  guards  him  from  the 
moment  he  is  born. 

Second,  the  experience  of  his  parents  and  com- 
rades, learned  chiefly  by  example.  This  be- 
comes most  important  as  soon  as  the  young 
can  run. 

Third,  the  personal  experience  of  the  animal 
itself.  This  grows  in  importance  as  the  animal 
ages. 

The  weakness  of  the  first  is  its  fixity;  it 
cannot  change  to  meet  quickly  changing  condi- 
284 


Ttto 

tions.  The  weakness  of  the  second  is  the  ani- 
mal's inability  freely  to  exchange  ideas  by 
language.  The  weakness  of  the  third  is  the 
danger  in  acquiring  it.  But  the  three  together 
are  a  strong  arch. 

Now,  Tito  was  in  a  new  case.  Perhaps  never 
before  had  a  Coyote  faced  life  with  unusual 
advantages  in  the  third  kind  of  knowledge,  none 
at  all  in  the  second,  and  with  the  first  dormant. 
She  travelled  rapidly  away  from  the  ranchmen, 
keeping  out  of  sight,  and  sitting  down  once  in 
a  while  to  lick  her  wounded  tail-stump.  She 
came  at  last  to  a  Prairie-dog  town.  Many  of 
the  inhabitants  were  out,  and  they  barked  at 
the  intruder,  but  all  dodged  down  as  soon  as 
she  came  near.  Her  instinct  taught  her  to  try 
and  catch  one,  but  she  ran  about  in  vain  for 
some  time,  and  then  gave  it  up.  She  would 
have  gone  hungry  that  night  but  that  she  found 
a  couple  of  Mice  in  the  long  grass  by  the  river. 
Her  mother  had  not  taught  her  to  hunt,  but  her 
instinct  did,  and  the  accident  that  she  had  an 
unusual  brain  made  her  profit  very  quickly  by 
her  experience. 

In  the  days  that  followed  she  quickly  learned 
285 


Tito 

how  to  make  a  living ;  for  Mice,  Ground  Squir- 
rels, Prairie-dogs,  Rabbits,  and  Lizards  were 
abundant,  and  many  of  these  could  be  captured 
in  open  chase.  But  open  chase,  and  sneaking 
as  near  as  possible  before  beginning  the  open 
chase,  lead  naturally  to  stalking  for  a  final  spring. 
And  before  the  moon  had  changed  the  Coyote 
had  learned  how  to  make  a  comfortable  living. 
Once  or  twice  she  saw  the  men  with  the  Grey- 
hounds coming  her  way.  Most  Coyotes  would, 
perhaps,  have  barked  in  bravado,  or  would  have 
gone  up  to  some  high  place  whence  they  could 
watch  the  enemy ;  but  Tito  did  no  such  foolish 
thing.  Had  she  run,  her  moving  form  would 
have  caught  the  eyes  of  the  Dogs,  and  then 
nothing  could  have  saved  her.  She  dropped 
where  she  was,  and  lay  flat  until  the  danger 
had  passed.  Thus  her  ranch  training  to  lay 
low  began  to  stand  her  in  good  stead,  and 
so  it  came  about  that  her  weakness  was  her 
strength.  The  Coyote  kind  had  so  long  been 
famous  for  their  speed,  had  so  long  learned  to 
trust  in  their  legs,  that  they  never  dreamed  of  a 
creature  that  could  run  them  down.  They  were 
accustomed  to  play  with  their  pursuers,  and  so 
286 


Tito 

rarely  bestirred  themselves  to  run  from  Grey- 
hounds, till  it  was  too  late.  But  Tito,  brought 
up  at  the  end  of  a  chain,  was  a  poor  runner. 
She  had  no  reason  to  trust  her  legs.  She  rather 
trusted  her  wits,  and  so  lived. 

During  that  summer  she  stayed  about  the 
Little  Missouri,  learning  the  tricks  of  small- 
game  hunting  that  she  should  have  learned 
before  she  shed  her  milk-teeth,  and  gaining  in 
strength  and  speed.  She  kept  far  away  from 
all  the  ranches,  and  always  hid  on  seeing  a 
man  or  a  strange  beast,  and  so  passed  the  sum- 
mer alone.  During  the  daytime  she  was  not 
lonely,  but  when  the  sun  went  down  she  would 
feel  the  impulse  to  sing  that  wild  song  of  the 
West  which  means  so  much  to  the  Coyotes. 

It  is  not  the  invention  of  an  individual  nor  of 
the  present,  but  was  slowly  built  out  of  the  feel- 
ings of  all  Coyotes  in  all  ages.  It  expresses 
their  nature  and  the  Plains  that  made  their  na- 
ture. When  one  begins  it,  it  takes  hold  of  the 
rest,  as  the  fife  and  drum  do  with  soldiers,  or 
the  ki-yi  war-song  with  Indian  braves.  They 
respond  to  it  as  a  bell-glass  does  to  a  certain 
note  the  moment  that  note  is  struck,  ignoring 
287 


Tito 

other  sounds.  So  the  Coyote,  no  matter  how 
brought  up,  must  vibrate  at  the  night  song  of 
the  Plains,  for  it  touches  something  in  himself. 
They  sing  it  after  sundown,  when  it  becomes 
the  rallying-cry  of  their  race  and  the  friendly 
call  to  a  neighbor ;  and  they  sing  it  as  one  boy 
in  the  woods  holloas  to  another  to  say,  "  All's 
well!  Here  am  I.  Where  are  you ?"  A  form 
of  it  they  sing  to  the  rising  moon,  for  this  is  the 
time  for  good  hunting  to  begin.  They  sing 
when  they  see  the  new  camp-fire,  for  the  same 
reason  that  a  Dog  barks  at  a  stranger.  Yet 
another  weird  chant  they  have  for  the  dawning 
before  they  steal  quietly  away  from  the  offing 
of  the  camp — a  wild,  weird,  squalling  refrain  : 

Wow-wow-wow-wow- wow-w-o-o-o-o-o-o-w, 

again  and  again ;  and  doubtless  with  many  an- 
other change  that  man  cannot  distinguish  any 
more  than  the  Coyote  can  distinguish  the  words 
in  the  cow-boy's  anathemas. 

Tito  instinctively  uttered  her  music  at  the 
proper  times.     But  sad  experiences  had  taught 
her  to  cut  it  short  and  keep  it  low.     Once  or 
288 


Tito 

twice  she  had  got  a  far-away  reply  from  one  of 
her  own  race,  whereupon  she  had  quickly 
ceased  and  timidly  quit  the  neighborhood. 

One  day,  when  on  the  Upper  Garner's  Creek, 
she  found  the  trail  where  a  piece  of  meat  had 
been  dragged  along.  It  was  a  singularly  in- 
viting odor,  and  she  followed  it,  partly  out  of 
curiosity.  Presently  she  came  on  a  piece  of 
the  meat  itself.  She  was  hungry;  she  was 
always  hungry  now.  It  was  tempting,  and 
although  it  had  a  peculiar  odor,  she  swallowed 
it.  Within  a  few  minutes  she  felt  a  terrific 
pain.  The  memory  of  the  poisoned  meat  the 
boy  had  given  her,  was  fresh.  With  trembling, 
foaming  jaws  she  seized  some  blades  of  grass, 
and  her  stomach  threw  off  the  meat;  but  she 
fell  in  convulsions  on  the  ground. 

The  trail  of  meat  dragged  along  and  the 
poison  baits  had  been  laid  the  day  before  by 
Wolver  Jake.  This  morning  he  was  riding 
the  drag,  and  on  coming  up  from  the  draw  he 
saw,  far  ahead,  the  Coyote  struggling.  He 
knew,  ot  course,  that  it  was  poisoned,  and  rode 
quickly  up ;  but  the  convulsions  passed  as  he 
neared.  By  a  mighty  effort,  at  the  sound  of 
289 


Tito 

the  Horses'  hoofs  the  Coyote  arose  to  her 
front  feet.  Jake  drew  his  revolver  and  fired, 
but  the  only  effect  was  fully  to  alarm  her.  She 
tried  to  run,  but  her  hind  legs  were  paralyzed. 
She  put  forth  all  her  strength,  dragging  her  hind 
legs.  Now,  when  the  poison  was  no  longer  in 
the  stomach,  will-power  could  do  a  great  deal. 
Had  she  been  allowed  to  lie  down  then  she 
would  have  been  dead  in  five  minutes ;  but  the 
revolver-shots  and  the  man  coming  stirred  her 
to  strenuous  action.  Madly  she  struggled  again 
and  again  to  get  her  hind  legs  to  work.  All 
the  force  of  desperate  intent  she  brought  to 
bear.  It  was  like  putting  forth  tenfold  power  to 
force  the  nervous  fluids  through  their  blocked-up 
channels  as  she  dragged  herself  with  marvellous 
speed  downhill.  What  is  nerve  but  will?  The 
dead  wires  of  her  legs  were  hot  with  this  fresh 
power,  multiplied,  injected,  blasted  into  them. 
They  had  to  give  in.  She  felt  them  thrill  with 
life  again.  Each  wild  shot  from  the  gun  lent 
vital  help.  Another  fierce  attempt,  and  one 
hind  leg  obeyed  the  call  to  duty.  A  few  more 
bounds,  and  the  other,  too,  fell  in.  Then  lightly 
she  loped  away  among  the  broken  buttes, 
290 


M;^ 


Tito 

defying  the  agonizing  gripe  that  still  kept  on 
inside. 

Had  Jake  held  off  then  she  would  yet  have 
laid  down  and  died ;  but  he  followed,  and  fired 
and  fired,  till  in  another  mile  she  bounded  free 
from  pain,  saved  from  her  enemy  by  himself. 
He  had  compelled  her  to  take  the  only  cure,  so 
she  escaped. 

And  these  were  the  ideas  that  she  harvested 
that  day :  That  curious  smell  on  the  meat  stands 
for  mortal  agony.  Let  it  alone!  And  she 
never  forgot  it ;  thenceforth  she  knew  strychnine. 

Fortunately,  Dogs,  traps,  and  strychnine  do 
not  wage  war  at  once,  for  the  Dogs  are  as  apt 
to  be  caught  or  poisoned  as  the  Coyotes.  Had 
there  been  a  single  Dog  in  the  hunt  that  day 
Tito's  history  would  have  ended. 


IV 


WHEN  the  weather  grew  cooler  toward  the  end 
of  autumn  Tito  had  gone  far  toward  repairing 
the  defects  in  her  early  training.  She  was  more 
like  an  ordinary  Coyote  in  her  habits  now,  and 
she  was  more  disposed  to  sing  the  sundown  song. 
291 


Tito 

One  night,  when  she  got  a  response,  she 
yielded  to  the  impulse  again  to  call,  and  soon 
afterward  a  large,  dark  Coyote  appeared.  The 
fact  that  he  was  there  at  all  was  a  guarantee  of 
unusual  gifts,  for  the  war  against  his  race  was 
waged  relentlessly  by  the  cattlemen.  He  ap- 
proached with  caution.  Tito's  mane  bristled 
with  mixed  feelings  at  the  sight  of  one  of  her 
}  I/  own  kind.  She  crouched  flat  on  the  ground  and 

^        //  waited.     The  newcomer  came  stiffly  forward, 

^     .     (,  nosing  the  wind ;  then  up  the  wind  nearly  to  her. 

~s  sMl.V.  J| \\lL  Then  he  walked   around   so  that  she  should 

\  ^t  wind  him,  and  raising  his  tail,  gently  waved  it. 

N  >-^  The  first  acts  meant  armed  neutrality,  but  the 
last  was  a  distinctly  friendly  signal.  Then  he 
approached,  and  she  rose  up  suddenly  and  stood 
as  high  as  she  could  to  be  smelled.  Then  she 
wagged  the  stump  of  her  tail,  and  they  con- 
sidered themselves  acquainted. 

The  newcomer  was  a  very  large  Coyote,  half 
as  tall  again  as  Tito,  and  the  dark  patch  on 
his  shoulders  was  so  large  and  black  that  the 
cow-boys,  when  they  came  to  know  him,  called 
him  Saddleback.  From  that  time  these  two 
continued  more  or  less  together.  They  were 
292 


They  Considered  Themselves  Acquainted. 


Tito 

not  always  close  together,  often  were  miles 
apart  during  the  day,  but  toward  night  one  or 
the  other  would  get  on  some  high,  open  place 
and  sing  the  loud 

Yap-yap-yap-yow-wow-wow  -wow-wow, 

and  they  would  forgather  for  some  foray  on 
hand. 

The  physical  advantages  were  with  Saddle- 
back, but  the  greater  cunning  was  Tito's,  so 
that  she  in  time  became  the  leader.  Before  a 
month  a  third  Coyote  had  appeared  on  the 
scene  and  become  also  a  member  of  this  loose- 
bound  fraternity,  and  later  two  more  appeared. 
Nothing  succeeds  like  success.  The  little  bob- 
tailed  Coyote  had  had  rare  advantages  of  train- 
ing just  where  the  others  were  lacking:  she 
knew  the  devices  of  man.  She  could  not  tell 
about  these  in  words,  but  she  could  by  the  aid 
of  a  few  signs  and  a  great  deal  of  example.  It 
soon  became  evident  that  her  methods  of  hunt- 
ing were  successful,  whereas,  when  they  went 
without  her,  they  often  had  hard  luck.  A  man 
at  Boxelder  Ranch  had  twenty  Sheep.  The 
rules  of  the  county  did  not  allow  any  one  to 
295 


Tito 


own  more,  as  this  was  a  Cattle-range.  Tho 
Sheep  were  guarded  by  a  large  and  fierce  Collie. 
One  day  in  winter  two  of  the  Coyotes  tried  to 
raid  this  flock  by  a  bold  dash,  and  all  they  got 
was  a  mauling  from  the  Collie.  A  few  days 
later  the  band  returned  at  dusk.  Just  how  Tito 
arranged  it,  man  cannot  tell.  We  can  only  guess 
how  she  taught  them  their  parts,  but  we  know 
that  she  surely  did.  The  Coyotes  hid  in  the 
willows.  Then  Saddleback,  the  bold  and  swift, 
walked  openly  toward  the  Sheep  and  barked  a 
loud  defiance.  The  Collie  jumped  up  with 
bristling  mane  and  furious  growl,  then,  seeing 
the  foe,  dashed  straight  at  him.  Now  was  the 
time  for  the  steady  nerve  and  the  unfailing 
limbs.  Saddleback  let  the  Dog  come  near 
enough  almost  to  catch  him,  and  so  beguiled 
him  far  and  away  into  the  woods,  while  the 
other  Coyotes,  led  by  Tito,  stampeded  the 
Sheep  in  twenty  directions ;  then  following 
the  farthest,  they  killed  several  and  left  them  in 
the  snow. 

In  the  gloom  of  descending  night  the  Dog 
and  his  master  labored  till  they  had  gathered 
the  bleating  survivors ;  but  next  morning  they 
296 


Tito 

found  that  four  had  been  driven  far  away  and 
killed,  and  the  Coyotes  had  had,  a  banquet 
royal. 

The  shepherd  poisoned  the  carcasses  and  left 
them.  Next  night  the  Coyotes  returned.  Tito 
sniffed  the  now  frozen  meat,  detected  the  poi- 
son, gave  a  warning  growl,  and  scattered  filth 
over  the  meat,  so  that  none  of  the  band  should 
touch  it.  One,  however,  who  was  fast  and 
foolish,  persisted  in  feeding  in  spite  of  Tito's 
warning,  and  when  they  came  away  he  was 
lying  poisoned  and  dead  in  the  snow. 


JAKE  now  heard  on  all  sides  that  the  Coyotes 
were  getting  worse.  So  he  set  to  work  with 
many  traps  and  much  poison  to  destroy  those 
on  the  Garner's  Creek,  and  every  little  while  he 
would  go  with  the  Hounds  and  scour  the  Little 
Missouri  south  and  east  of  the  Chimney-pot 
Ranch ;  for  it  was  understood  that  he  must 
never  run  the  Dogs  in  country  where  traps  and 
poison  were  laid.  He  worked  in  his  erratic 
way  all  winter,  and  certainly  did  have  some 
297 


Tho 

success.  He  killed  a  couple  of  gray  Wolves, 
said  to  be  the  last  of  their  race,  and  several 
Coyotes,  some  of  which,  no  doubt,  were  of  the 
Bobtailed  pack,  which  thereby  lost  those  mem- 
bers which  were  lacking  in  wisdom. 

Yet  that  winter  was  marked  by  a  series  of 
Coyote  raids  and  exploits;  and  usually  the 
track  in  the  snow  or  the  testimony  of  eye- 
witnesses told  that  the  master  spirit  of  it  all  was 
a  little  Bobtailed  Coyote. 

One  of  these  adventures  was  the  cause  of 
much  talk.  The  Coyote  challenge  sounded 
close  to  the  Chimney-pot  Ranch  after  sun- 
down. A  dozen  Dogs  responded  with  the  usual 
clamor.  But  only  the  Bull-terrier  dashed  away 
toward  the  place  whence  the  Coyotes  had  called, 
for  the  reason  that  he  only  was  loose.  His 
chase  was  fruitless,  and  he  came  back  growling. 
Twenty  minutes  later  there  was  another  Coyote 
yell  close  at  hand.  Off  dashed  the  Terrier 
as  before.  In  a  minute  his  excited  yapping 
told  that  he  had  sighted  his  game  and  was  in 
full  chase.  Away  he  went,  furiously  barking, 
until  his  voice  was  lost  afar,  and  nevermore 
was  heard.  In  the  morning  the  men  read  in 
298 


Tito 

the  snow  the  tale  of  the  night.  The  first  cry 
of  the  Coyotes  was  to  find  out  if  all  the  Dogs 
were  loose ;  then,  having  found  that  only  one 
was  free,  they  laid  a  plan.  Five  Coyotes  hid 
along  the  side  of  the  trail;  one  went  forward 
and  called  till  it  had  decoyed  the  rash  Terrier, 
and  then  led  him  right  into  the  ambush.  What 
chance  had  he  with  six?  They  tore  him  limb 
from  limb,  and  devoured  him,  too,  at  the  very 
spot  where  once  he  had  worried  Coyotito.  And 
next  morning,  when  the  men  came,  they  saw  by 
the  signs  that  the  whole  thing  had  been  planned, 
and  that  the  leader  whose  cunning  had  made  it 
a  success  was  a  little  Bobtailed  Coyote. 

The  men  were  angry,  and  Lincoln  was  furi- 
ous ;  but  Jake  remarked :  "  Well,  I  guess  that 
Bobtail  came  back  and  got  even  with  that 
Terrier." 

VI 

WHEN  spring  was  near,  the  annual  love-season 
of  the  Coyotes  came  on.  Saddleback  and  Tito 
had  been  together  merely  as  companions  all 
winter,  but  now  a  new  feeling  was  born.  There 
was  not  much  courting.  Saddleback  simply 
299 


Tito 

showed  his  teeth  to  possible  rivals.  There  was 
no  ceremony.  They  had  been  friends  for 
months,  and  now,  in  the  light  of  the  new  feel- 
ing, they  naturally  took  to  each  other  and  were 
mated.  Coyotes  do  not  give  each  other  names 
as  do  mankind,  but  have  one  sound  like  a 
growl  and  short  howl,  which  stands  for  "  mate  " 
or  "husband"  or  "wife."  This  they  use  in 
calling  to  each  other,  and  it  is  by  recognizing 
the  tone  of  the  voice  that  they  know  who  is 
calling. 

The  loose  rambling  brotherhood  of  the  Coy- 
otes was  broken  up  now,  for  the  others  also 
paired  off,  and  since  the  returning  warm  weather 
was  bringing  out  the  Prairie-dogs  and  small 
game,  there  was  less  need  to  combine  for  hunt- 
ing. Ordinarily  Coyotes  do  not  sleep  in  dens 
or  in  any  fixed  place.  They  move  about  all 
night  while  it  is  cool,  then  during  the  daytime 
they  get  a  few  hours'  sleep  in  the  sun,  on  some 
quiet  hillside  that  also  gives  a  chance  to  watch 
out.  But  the  mating  season  changes  this  habit 
somewhat. 

As  the  weather  grew  warm  Tito  and  Saddle- 
back set  about  preparing  a  den  for  the  expected 
300 


Their  Evening  Song. 


Tito 

family.  In  a  warm  little  hollow,  an  old  Badger 
abode  was  cleaned  out,  enlarged,  and  deepened. 
A  quantity  of  leaves  and  grass  was  carried  into 
it  and  arranged  in  a  comfortable  nest.  The 
place  selected  for  it  was  a  dry,  sunny  nook 
among  the  hills,  half  a  mile  west  of  the  Little 
Missouri.  Thirty  yards  from  it  was  a  ridge 
which  commanded  a  wide  view  of  the  grassy 
slopes  and  cottonwood  groves  by  the  river. 
Men  would  have  called  the  spot  very  beautiful, 
but  it  is  tolerably  certain  that  that  side  of  it 
never  touched  the  Coyotes  at  all. 

Tito  began  to  be  much  preoccupied  with  her 
impending  duties.  She  stayed  quietly  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  den,  and  lived  on  such  food 
as  Saddleback  brought  her,  or  she  herself  could 
easily  catch,  and  also  on  the  little  stores  that 
she  had  buried  at  other  times.  She  knew  every 
Prairie-dog  town  in  the  region,  as  well  as  all  the 
best  places  for  Mice  and  Rabbits. 

Not  far  from  the  den  was  the  very  Dog-town 
that  first  she  had  crossed  the  day  she  had  gained 
her  liberty  and  lost  her  tail.  If  she  were  capa- 
ble of  such  retrospect,  she  must  have  laughed 
to  herself  to  think  what  a  fool  she  was  then. 
303 


Tito 

The  change  in  her  methods  was  now  shown. 
Somewhat  removed  from  the  others,  a  Prairie- 
dog  had  made  his  den  in  the  most  approved 
style,  and  now  when  Tito  peered  over  he  was 
feeding  on  the  grass  ten  yards  from  his  own 
door.  A  Prairie-dog  away  from  the  others  is, 
of  course,  easier  to  catch  than  one  in  the  middle 
of  the  town,  for  he  has  but  one  pair  of  eyes 
to  guard  him ;  so  Tito  set  about  stalking  this 
one.  How  was  she  to  do  it  when  there  was 
no  cover,  nothing  but  short  grass  and  a  few  low 
weeds?  The  Whitebear  knows  how  to  ap- 
proach the  Seal  on  the  flat  ice,  and  the  Indian 
how  to  get  within  striking  distance  of  the  graz- 
ing Deer.  Tito  knew  how  to  do  the  same  trick, 
and  although  one  of  the  town  Owls  flew  over 
with  a  warning  chuckle,  Tito  set  about  her  plan. 
A  Prairie-dog  cannot  see  well  unless  he  is  sit- 
ting up  on  his  hind  legs ;  his  eyes  are  of  little 
use  when  he  is  nosing  in  the  grass ;  and  Tito 
knew  this.  Further,  a  yellowish-gray  animal 
on  a  yellowish-gray  landscape  is  invisible  till  it 
moves.  Tito  seemed  to  know  that.  So,  with- 
out any  attempt  to  crawl  or  hide,  she  walked 
gently  up-wind  toward  the  Prairie-dog.  Up- 
3°4 


Tito 

wind,  not  in  order  to  prevent  the  Prairie-dog 
smelling  her,  but  so  that  she  could  smell  him, 
which  came  to  the  same  thing.  As  soon  as  the 
Prairie-dog  sat  up  with  some  food  in  his  hand 
she  froze  into  a  statue.  As  soon  as  he  dropped 
again  to  nose  in  the  grass,  she  walked  steadily 
nearer,  watching  his  every  move  so  that  she 
might  be  motionless  each  time  he  sat  up  to  see 
what  his  distant  brothers  were  barking  at.  Once 
or  twice  he  seemed  alarmed  by  the  calls  of  his 
friends,  but  he  saw  nothing  and  resumed  his 
feeding.  She  soon  cut  the  fifty  yards  down  to 
ten,  and  the  ten  to  five,  and  still  was  undis- 
covered. Then,  when  again  the  Prairie-dog 
dropped  down  to  seek  more  fodder,  she  made  a 
quick  dash,  and  bore  him  off  kicking  and  squeal- 
ing. Thus  does  the  angel  of  the  pruning-knife 
lop  off  those  that  are  heedless  and  foolishly  in- 
different to  the  advantages  of  society. 

VII 

TITO  had  many  adventures  in  which  she  did  not 

come  out  so  well.     Once  she  nearly  caught  an 

Antelope  fawn,  but  the  hunt  was  spoiled  by  the 

3°7 


Tito 

sudden  appearance  of  the  mother,  who  gave 
Tito  a  stinging  blow  on  the  side  of  the  head 
and  ended  her  hunt  for  that  day.  She  never 
again  made  that  mistake — she  had  sense.  Once 
or  twice  she  had  to  jump  to  escape  the  strike 
of  a  Rattlesnake.  Several  times  she  had  been 
fired  at  by  hunters  with  long-range  rifles.  And 
more  and  more  she  had  to  look  out  for  the  ter- 
rible Gray  Wolves.  The  Gray  Wolf,  of  course, 
is  much  larger  and  stronger  than  the  Coyote, 
but  the  Coyote  has  the  advantage  of  speed, 
and  can  always  escape  in  the  open.  All  it 
must  beware  of  is  being  caught  in  a  corner. 
Usually  when  a  Gray  Wolf  howls  the  Coyotes 
go  quietly  about  their  business  elsewhere. 

Tito  had  a  curious  fad,  occasionally  seen 
among  the  Wolves  and  Coyotes,  of  carrying  in 
her  mouth,  for  miles,  such  things  as  seemed  to 
be  interesting  and  yet  were  not  tempting  as  eat- 
ables. Many  a  time  had  she  trotted  a  mile  or 
two  with  an  old  Buffalo-horn  or  a  cast-off  shoe, 
only  to  drop  it  when  something  else  attracted 
her  attention.  The  cow-boys  who  remark  these 
things  have  various  odd  explanations  to  offer: 
one,  that  it  is  done  to  stretch  the  jaws,  or  keep 
308 


Ttto 

them  in  practice,  just  as  a  man  in  training  carries 
weights.  Coyotes  have,  in  common  with  Dogs 
and  Wolves,  the  habit  of  calling  at  certain 
stations  along  their  line  of  travel,  to  leave  a 
record  of  their  visit.  These  stations  may  be  a 
stone,  a  tree,  a  post,  or  an  old  Buffalo-skull,  and 
the  Coyote  calling  there  can  learn,  by  the  odor 
and  track  of  the  last  comer,  just  who  the  caller 
was,  whence  he  came,  and  whither  he  went. 
The  whole  country  is  marked  out  by  these  in- 
telligence depots.  Now  it  often  happens  that 
a  Coyote  that  has  not  much  else  to  do  will  carry 
a  dry  bone  or  some  other  useless  object  in  its 
mouth,  but  sighting  the  signal-post,  will  go  to- 
ward it  to  get  the  news,  lay  down  the  bone, 
and  afterward  forget  to  take  it  along,  so  that 
the  signal-posts  in  time  become  further  marked 
with  a  curious  collection  of  odds  and  ends. 

This  singular  habit  was  the  cause  of  a  dis- 
aster to  the  Chimney-pot  Wolf-hounds,  and  a 
corresponding  advantage  to  the  Coyotes  in  the 
war.  Jake  had  laid  a  line  of  poison  baits  on 
the  western  bluffs.  Tito  knew  what  they  were, 
and  spurned  them  as  usual ;  but  finding  more 
later,  she  gathered  up  three  or  four  and  crossed 
309 


Tito 


the  Little  Missouri  toward  the  ranch-house. 
This  she  circled  at  a  safe  distance;  but  when 
something  made  the  pack  of  Dogs  break  out 
into  clamor,  Tito  dropped  the  baits,  and  next 
day,  when  the  Dogs  were  taken  out  for  exercise, 
they  found  and  devoured  these  scraps  of  meat, 
so  that  in  ten  minutes  there  were  four  hundred 
dollars'  worth  of  Greyhounds  lying  dead.  This 
led  to  an  edict  against  poisoning  in  that  dis- 
trict, and  thus  was  a  great  boon  to  the  Coyotes. 
Tito  quickly  learned  that  not  only  each  kind 
of  game  must  be  hunted  in  a  special  way,  but 
different  ones  of  each  kind  may  require  quite 
different  treatment.  The  Prairie-dog  with  the 
outlying  den  was  really  an  easy  prey,  but  the 
town  was  quite  compact  now  that  he  was  gone. 
Near  the  centre  of  it  was  a  fine,  big,  fat  Prairie- 
dog,  a  perfect  alderman,  that  she  had  made 
several  vain  attempts  to  capture.  On  one  oc- 
casion she  had  crawled  almost  within  leaping 
distance,  when  the  angry  bizz  of  a  Rattlesnake 
just  ahead  warned  her  that  she  was  in  danger. 
Not  that  the  Rattler  cared  anything  about  the 
Prairie-dog,  but  he  did  not  wish  to  be  disturbed ; 
and  Tito,  who  had  an  instinctive  fear  of  the 
310 


Tito 

Snake,  was  forced  to  abandon  the  hunt.  The 
open  stalk  proved  an  utter  failure  with  the  Al- 
derman, for  the  situation  of  his  den  made  every 
Dog  in  the  town  his  sentinel ;  but  he  was  too 
good  to  lose,  and  Tito  waited  until  circum- 
stances made  a  new  plan. 

All  Coyotes  have  a  trick  of  watching  from  a 
high  lookout  whatever  passes  along  the  roads. 
After  it  has  passed  they  go  down  and  examine 
its  track.  Tito  had  this  habit,  except  that  she 
was  always  careful  to  keep  out  of  sight  herself. 

One  day  a  wagon  passed  from  the  town  to 
the  southward.  Tito  lay  low  and  watched  it. 
Something  dropped  on  the  road.  When  the 
wagon  was  out  of  sight  Tito  sneaked  down, 
first  to  smell  the  trail  as  a  matter  of  habit, 
second  to  see  what  it  was  that  had  dropped. 
The  object  was  really  an  apple,  but  Tito  saw 
only  an  unattractive  round  green  thing  like  a 
cactus-leaf  without  spines,  and  of  a  peculiar 
smell.  She  snuffed  it,  spurned  it,  and  was  about 
to  pass  on ;  but  the  sun  shone  on  it  so  brightly, 
and  it  rolled  so  curiously  when  she  pawed,  that 
she  picked  it  up  in  a  mechanical  way  and  trotted 
back  over  the  rise,  where  she  found  herself  at 


Tito 

the  Dog-town.  Just  then  two  great  Prairie- 
hawks  came  skimming  like  pirates  over  the 
plain.  As  soon  as  they  were  in  sight  the  Prairie- 
dogs  all  barked,  jerking  their  tails  at  each  bark, 
and  hid  below.  When  all  were  gone  Tito 
walked  on  toward  the  hole  of  the  big  fat  fellow 
whose  body  she  coveted,  and  dropping  the 
apple  on  the  ground  a  couple  of  feet  from  the 
rim  of  the  crater  that  formed  his  home,  she  put 
her  nose  down  to  enjoy  the  delicious  smell  of 
Dog-fat.  Even  his  den  smelled  more  fragrant 
than  those  of  the  rest.  Then  she  went  quietly 
behind  a  greasewood-bush,  in  a  lower  place 
some  twenty  yards  away,  and  lay  flat.  After  a 
few  seconds  some  venturesome  Prairie-dog 
looked  out,  and  seeing  nothing,  gave  the  "  all's 
well "  bark.  One  by  one  they  came  out,  and 
in  twenty  minutes  the  town  was  alive  as  before. 
One  of  the  last  to  come  out  was  the  fat  old 
Alderman.  He  always  took  good  care  of  his 
own  precious  self.  He  peered  out  cautiously  a 
few  times,  then  climbed  to  the  top  of  his 
lookout.  A  Prairie-dog  hole  is  shaped  like  a 
funnel,  going  straight  down.  Around  the  top 
of  this  is  built  a  high  ridge  which  serves  as  a 
312 


Tito 

lookout,  and  also  makes  sure  that,  no  matter 
how  they  may  slip  in  their  hurry,  they  are  cer- 
tain to  drop  into  the  funnel  and  be  swallowed 
up  by  the  all-protecting  earth.  On  the  outside 
the  ground  slopes  away  gently  from  the  funnel. 
Now,  when  the  Alderman  saw  that  strange 
round  thing  at  his  threshold  he  was  afraid. 
Second  inspection  led  him  to  believe  that  it 
was  not  dangerous,  but  was  probably  interesting. 
He  went  cautiously  toward  it,  smelled  it,  and 
tried  to  nibble  it ;  but  the  apple  rolled  away,  for 
it  was  round,  and  the  ground  was  smooth  as 
well  as  sloping.  The  Prairie-dog  followed  and 
gave  it  a  nip  which  satisfied  him  that  the  strange 
object  would  make  good  eating.  But  each  time 
he  nibbled,  it  rolled  farther  away.  The  coast 
seemed  clear,  all  the  other  Prairie-dogs  were 
out,  so  the  fat  Alderman  did  not  hesitate  to 
follow  up  the  dodging,  shifting  apple. 

This  way  and  that  it  wriggled,  and  he  fol- 
lowed. Of  course  it  worked  toward  the  low 
place  where  grew  the  greasewood-bush.  The 
little  tastes  of  apple  that  he  got  only  whetted 
his  appetite.  The  Alderman  was  more  and 
more  interested.  Foot  by  foot  he  was  led  from 
3*3 


Tito 

his  hole  toward  that  old,  familiar  bush,  and  had 
no  thought  of  anything  but  the  joy  of  eating. 
And  Tito  curled  herself  and  braced  her  sinewy 
legs,  and  measured  the  distance  between,  until 
it  dwindled  to  not  more  than  three  good  jumps  ; 
then  up  and  like  an  arrow  she  went,  and  grabbed 
and  bore  him  off  at  last. 

Now  it  will  never  be  known  whether  it  was 
accident  or  design  that  led  to  the  placing  of 
that  apple,  but  it  proved  important,  and  if  such 
a  thing  were  to  happen  once  or  twice  to  a 
smart  Coyote,  —  and  it  is  usually  clever  ones 
that  get  such  chances,  —  it  might  easily  grow  into 
a  new  trick  of  hunting. 

After  a  hearty  meal  Tito  buried  the  rest  in 
a  cold  place,  not  to  get  rid  of  it,  but  to  hide  it 
for  future  use  ;  and  a  little  later,  when  she  was 
too  weak  to  hunt  much,  her  various  hoards  of 
this  sort  came  in  very  useful.  True,  the  meat 
had  turned  very  strong;  but  Tito  was  not 
critical,  and  she  had  no  fears  or  theories  of 
f  ^  ^  microbes,  so  suffered  no  ill  effects. 


C" 


Tito 


VIII 

THE  lovely  Hiawathan  spring  was  touching  all 
things  in  the  fairy  Badlands.  Oh,  why  are 
they  called  Badlands  ?  If  Nature  sat  down 
deliberately  on  the  eighth  day  of  creation  and 
said,  "  Now  work  is  done,  let's  play ;  let's 
make  a  place  that  shall  combine  everything 
that  is  finished  and  wonderful  and  beautiful — 
a  paradise  for  man  and  bird  and  beast,"  it  was 
surely  then  that  she  made  these  wild,  fantastic 
hills,  teeming  with  life,  radiant  with  gayest 
flowers,  varied  with  sylvan  groves,  bright  with 
prairie  sweeps  and  brimming  lakes  and  streams. 
In  foreground,  offing,  and  distant  hills  that 
change  at  every  step,  we  find  some  proof  that  Na- 
ture squandered  here  the  riches  that  in  other 
lands  she  used  as  sparingly  as  gold,  with  colorful 
sky  above  and  colorful  land  below,  and  the 
distance  blocked  by  sculptured  buttes  that  are 
built  of  precious  stones  and  ores,  and  tinged  as 
by  a  lasting  and  unspeakable  sunset.  And  yet, 
for  all-this  ten  times  gorgeous  wonderland  en- 
chanted, blind  man  has  found  no  better  name 
than  one  which  says,  the  road  to  it  is  hard. 


Ttto 


The  little  hollow  west  of  Chimney  Butte  was 
freshly  grassed.  The  dangerous-looking  Span- 
ish bayonets,  that  through  the  bygone  winter 
had  waged  war  with  all  things,  now  sent  out 
their  contribution  to  the  peaceful  triumph  of  the 
spring,  in  flowers  that  have  stirred  even  the 
chilly  scientists  to  name  them  Gloriosa ;  and 
the  cactus,  poisonous,  most  reptilian  of  herbs, 
surprised  the  world  with  a  splendid  bloom  as 
little  like  itself  as  the  pearl  is  like  its  mother 
shell-fish.  The  sage  and  the  greasewood  lent 
their  gold,  and  the  sand-anemone  tinged  the 
Badland  hills  like  bluish  snow ;  and  in  the  air 
and  earth  and  hills  on  every  hand  was  felt  the 
fecund  promise  of  the  spring.  This  was  the 
end  of  the  winter  famine,  the  beginning  of 
the  summer  feast,  and  this  was  the  time  by  the 
All-mother  ordained  when  first  the  little  Coyotes 
should  see  the  light  of  day. 

A  mother  does  not  have  to  learn  to  love  her 
helpless,  squirming  brood.  They  bring  the  love 
with  them — not  much  or  little,  not  measur- 
able, but  perfect  love.  And  in  that  dimly 
lighted  warm  abode  she  fondled  them  and 
licked  them  and  cuddled  them  with  heartful 
3'S 


Tito 


warmth  of  tenderness  that  was  as  much  a  new 
epoch  in  her  life  as  in  theirs. 

But  the  pleasure  of  loving  them  was  measured 
in  the  same  measure  as  anxiety  for  their  safety. 
In  bygone  days  her  care  had  been  mainly  for 
herself.  All  she  had  learned  in  her  strange 
puppyhood,  all  she  had  picked  up  since,  was 
bent  to  the  main  idea  of  self-preservation. 
Now  she  was  ousted  from  her  own  affections 
by  her  brood.  Her  chief  care  was  to  keep 
their  home  concealed,  and  this  was  not  very 
hard  at  first,  for  she  left  them  only  when  she 
must,  to  supply  her  own  wants. 

She  came  and  went  with  great  care,  and  only 
after  spying  well  the  land  so  that  none  should 
see  and  find  the  place  of  her  treasure.  If  it 
were  possible  for  the  little  ones'  idea  of  their 
mother  and  the  cow-boys'  idea  to  be  set  side  by 
side  they  would  be  found  to  have  nothing  in 
common,  though  both  were  right  in  their  point 
of  view.  The  ranchmen  knew  the  Coyote  only 
as  a  pair  of  despicable,  cruel  jaws,  borne  around 
on  tireless  legs,  steered  by  incredible  cunning, 
and  leaving  behind  a  track  of  destruction.  The 
little  ones  knew  her  as  a  loving,  gentle,  all- 
319 


Tito 

powerful  guardian.  For  them  her  breast  was 
soft  and  warm  and  infinitely  tender.  She  fed 
and  warmed  them,  she  was  their  wise  and  watch- 
ful keeper.  She  was  always  at  hand  with  food 
when  they  hungered,  with  wisdom  to  foil  the 
cunning  of  their  foes,  and  with  a  heart  of  cour- 
age tried  to  crown  her  well-laid  plans  for  them 
with  uniform  success. 

"^''^. ,  A  baby  Coyote  is  a  shapeless,  senseless, 
^.  ,y  wriggling,  and — to  every  one  but  its  mother — 
'  a  most  uninteresting  little  lump.  But  after  its 
eyes  are  open,  after  it  has  developed  its  legs, 
after  it  has  learned  to  play  in  the  sun  with  its 
brothers,  or  run  at  the  gentle  call  of  its  mother 
when  she  brings  home  game  for  it  to  feed  on, 
the  baby  Coyote  becomes  one  of  the  cutest, 
dearest  little  rascals  on  earth.  And  when  the 
nine  that  made  up  Coyotito's  brood  had  reached 
this  stage,  it  did  not  require  the  glamour  of 
motherhood  to  make  them  objects  of  the  great- 
est interest. 

The  summer  was  now  on.     The  little  ones 

were  beginning  to  eat  flesh-meat,  and  Tito,  with 

some   assistance   from    Saddleback,  was  kept 

busy  to  supply  both  themselves  and  the  brood. 

320 


Tito  and  her  Brood, 


Tho 

Sometimes  she  brought  them  a  Prairie-dog,  at 
other  times  she  would  come  home  with  a  whole 
bunch  of  Gophers  and  Mice  in  her  jaws ;  and 
once  or  twice,  by  the  clever  trick  of  relay- 
chasing,  she  succeeded  in  getting  one  of  the 
big  Northern  Jack-rabbits  for  the  little  folks  at 
home. 

After  they  had  feasted  they  would  lie  around 
in  the  sun  for  a  time.  Tito  would  mount  guard 
on  a  bank  and  scan  the  earth  and  air  with  her 
keen,  brassy  eye,  lest  any  dangerous  foe  should 
find  their  happy  valley ;  and  the  merry  pups 
played  little  games  of  tag,  or  chased  the  Butter- 
flies, or  had  apparently  desperate  encounters 
with  each  other,  or  tore  and  worried  the  bones 
and  feathers  that  now  lay  about  the  threshold 
of  the  home.  One,  the  least,  for  there  is  usu- 
ally a  runt,  stayed  near  the  mother  and  climbed 
on  her  back  or  pulled  at  her  tail.  They  made 
a  lovely  picture  as  they  played,  and  the  wrest- 
ling group  in  the  middle  seemed  the  focus  of  it 
all  at  first ;  but  a  keener,  later  look  would 
have  rested  on  the  mother,  quiet,  watchful,  not 
without  anxiety,  but,  above  all,  with  a  face  full 
of  motherly  tenderness.  Oh,  she  was  so  proud 
323 


Tho 


and  happy,  and  she  would  sit  there  and  watch 
them  and  silently  love  them  till  it  was  time  to 
go  home,  or  until  some  sign  of  distant  danger 
showed.  Then,  with  a  low  growl,  she  gave  the 
signal,  and  all  disappeared  from  sight  in  a 
twinkling,  after  which  she  would  set  off  to 
meet  and  turn  the  danger,  or  go  on  a  fresh 
hunt  for  food. 

IX 

WOLVER  JAKE  had  several  plans  for  making  a 
fortune,  but  each  in  turn  was  abandoned  as  soon 
as  he  found  that  it  meant  work.  At  one  time 
or  other  most  men  of  this  kind  see  the  chance 
of  their  lives  in  a  poultry-farm.  They  cherish 
the  idea  that  somehow  the  poultry  do  all  the 
work.  And  without  troubling  himself  about 
the  details,  Jake  devoted  an  unexpected  wind- 
fall to  the  purchase  of  a  dozen  Turkeys  for  his 
latest  scheme.  The  Turkeys  were  duly  housed 
in  one  end  of  Jake's  shanty,  so  as  to  be  well 
guarded,  and  for  a  couple  of  days  were  the 
object  of  absorbing  interest,  and  had  the  best 
of  care — too  much,  really.  But  Jake's  ardor 
waned  about  the  third  day ;  then  the  recurrent 
324 


r 


Tito 

necessity  for  long  celebrations  at  Medora,  and 
the  ancient  allurements  of  idle  hours  spent  lying 
on  the  tops  of  sunny  buttes  and  of  days  spent 
sponging  on  the  hospitality  of  distant  ranches, 
swept  away  the  last  pretence  of  attention  to  his 
poultry-farm.  The  Turkeys  were  utterly  neg- 
lected— left  to  forage  for  themselves ;  and  each 
time  that  Jake  returned  to  his  uninviting  shanty, 
after  a  few  days'  absence,  he  found  fewer  birds, 
till  at  last  none  but  the  old  Gobbler  was  left. 

Jake  cared  little  about  the  loss,  but  was  filled 
with  indignation  against  the  thief. 

He  was  now  installed  as  wolver  to  the  Broad- 
arrow  outfit.  That  is,  he  was  supplied  with 
poison,  traps,  and  Horses,  and  was  also  entitled 
to  all  he  could  make  out  of  Wolf  bounties.  A 
reliable  man  would  have  gotten  pay  in  addition, 
for  the  ranchmen  are  generous,  but  Jake  was  not 
reliable. 

Every  wolver  knows,  of  course,  that  his  busi- 
ness naturally  drops  into  several  well-marked 
periods. 

In  the  late  winter  and  early  spring — the  love- 
season — the  Hounds  will  not  hunt  a  She-wolf. 
They  will  quit  the  trail  of  a  He- wolf  at  this  time 
325 


Tito 
-V 

to  take  up  that  of  a  She-wolf,  but  when  they  do 
overtake  her,  they,  for  some  sentimental  reason, 
invariably  let  her  go  in  peace.  In  August  and 

v  ^  'V<?v,»'>  September  the  young  Coyotes  and  Wolves  are 

A)/  just  beginning  to  run  alone,  and  they  are  then 

easily  trapped  and  poisoned.  A  month  or  so 
later  the  survivors  have  learned  how  to  take 
care  of  themselves,  but  in  the  early  summer  the 
wolver  knows  that  there  are  dens  full  of  little 
ones  all  through  the  hills.  Each  den  has  from 
five  to  fifteen  pups,  and  the  only  difficulty  is  to 
know  the  whereabouts  of  these  family  homes. 

One  way  of  finding  the  dens  is  to  watch  from 
some  tall  butte  for  a  Coyote  carrying  food  to 
its  brood.  As  this  kind  of  wolving  involved 
much  lying  still,  it  suited  Jake  very  well.  So, 
equipped  with  a  Broad-arrow  Horse  and  the 
boss's  field-glasses,  he  put  in  week  after  week 
at  den-hunting— that  is,  lying  asleep  in  some 
possible  lookout,  with  an  occasional  glance  over 
the  country  when  it  seemed  easier  to  do  that 
than  to  lie  still. 

The  Coyotes  had  learned  to  avoid  the  open. 
They  generally  went  homeward  along  the  shel- 
tered hollows ;  but  this  was  not  always  possible, 
326 


Tito 

and  one  day,  while  exercising  his  arduous  pro- 
fession in  the  country  west  of  Chimney  Butte, 
Jake's  glasses  and  glance  fell  by  chance  on  a 
dark  spot  which  moved  along  an  open  hillside. 
It  was  gray,  and  it  looked  like  this :  and  even 
Jake  knew  that  that  meant  Coyote.  If  it  had 
been  a  gray  Wolf  it  would  have  been  so:  with 
tail  up.  A  Fox  would  have  looked  so :  the 
large  ears  and  tail  and  the  yellow  color  would 
have  marked  it.  And  a  Deer  would  have  looked 
so  :  That  dark  shade  from  the  front  end  meant 
something  in  his  mouth, — probably  something 
being  carried  home, — and  that  would  mean  a 
den  of  little  ones. 

He  made  careful  note  of  the  place,  and  re- 
turned there  next  day  to  watch,  selecting  a  high 
butte  near  where  he  had  seen  the  Coyote  car- 
rying the  food.  But  all  day  passed,  and  he  saw 
nothing.  Next  day,  however,  he  descried  -a 
dark  Coyote,  old  Saddleback,  carrying  a  large 
Bird,  and  by  the  help  of  the  glasses  he  made 
out  that  it  was  a  Turkey,  and  then  he  knew  that 
the  yard  at  home  was  quite  empty,  and  he  also 
knew  where  the  rest  of  them  had  gone,  and 
vowed  terrible  venger.nce  when  he  should  find 
327 


Tito 

the  den.  He  followed  Saddleback  with  his 
eyes  as  far  as  possible,  and  that  was  no  great 
way,  then  went  to  the  place  to  see  if  he  could 
track  him  any  farther ;  but  he  found  no  guiding 
signs,  and  he  did  not  chance  on  the  little  hollow 
that  was  the  playground  of  Tito's  brood. 

Meanwhile  Saddleback  came  to  the  little 
hollow  and  gave  the  low  call  that  always  con- 
jured from  the  earth  the  unruly  procession  of 
the  nine  riotous  little  pups,  and  they  dashed  at 
the  Turkey  and  pulled  and  worried  till  it  was 
torn  up,  and  each  that  got  a  piece  ran  to  one 
side  alone  and  silently  proceeded  to  eat,  seizing 
his  portion  in  his  jaws  when  another  came  near, 
and  growling  his  tiny  growl  as  he  showed  the 
brownish  whites  of  his  eyes  in  his  effort  to 
watch  the  intruder.  Those  that  got  the  softer 
parts  to  feed  on  were  well  fed.  But  the  three 
that  did  not  turned  all  their  energies  on  the 
frame  of  the  Gobbler,  and  over  that  there  waged 
a  battle  royal.  This  way  and  that  they  tugged 
and  tussled,  getting  off  occasional  scraps,  but 
really  hindering  each  other  feeding,  till  Tito 
glided  in  and  deftly  cut  the  Turkey  into  three 
or  four,  when  each  dashed  off  with  a  prize,  over 
328 


Tito 


which  he  sat  and  chewed  and  smacked  his  lips 
and  jammed  his  head  down  sideways  to  bring 
the  backmost  teeth  to  bear,  while  the  baby  runt 
scrambled  into  the  home  den,  carrying  in  tri- 
umph his  share— the  Gobbler's  grotesque  head 
and  neck. 

X 

JAKE  felt  that  he  had  been  grievously  wronged, 
indeed  ruined,  by  that  Coyote  that  stole  his 
Turkeys.  He  vowed  he  would  skin  them  alive 
when  he  found  the  pups,  and  took  pleasure  in 
thinking  about  how  he  would  do  it.  His  at- 
tempt to  follow  Saddleback  by  trailing  was  a 
failure,  and  all  his  searching  for  the  den  was 
useless,  but  he  had  come  prepared  for  any 
emergency.  In  case  he  found  the  den  he  had 
brought  a  pick  and  shovel ;  in  case  he  did  not 
he  had  brought  a  living  white  Hen. 

The  Hen  he  now  took  to  a  broad  open  place 
near  where  he  had  seen  Saddleback,  and  there 
he  tethered  her  to  a  stick  of  wood  that  she 
could  barely  drag.  Then  he  made  himself  com- 
fortable on  a  lookout  that  was  near,  and  lay  still 
to  watch.  The  Hen,  of  course,  ran  to  the  end 
329 


Tito 

of  the  string,  and  then  lay  on  the  ground  flop- 
ping stupidly.  Presently  the  clog  gave  enough 
to  ease  the  strain,  she  turned  by  mere  chance 
in  another  direction,  and  so,  for  a  time,  stood 
up  to  look  around. 

The  day  went  slowly  by,  and  Jake  lazily 
stretched  himself  on  the  blanket  in  his  spy  ing- 
place.  Toward  evening  Tito  came  by  on  a 
hunt.  This  was  not  surprising,  for  the  den  was 
only  half  a  mile  away.  Tito  had  learned,  among 
other  rules,  this,  "  Never  show  yourself  on  the 
sky-line."  In  former  days  the  Coyotes  used  to 
trot  along  the  tops  of  the  ridges  for  the  sake  of 
the  chance  to  watch  both  sides.  But  men  and 
guns  had  taught  Tito  that  in  this  way  you  are 
sure  to  be  seen.  She  therefore  made  a  practice 
of  running  along  near  the  top,  and  once  in  a 
while  peeping  over. 

This  was  what  she  did  that  evening  as  she 
went  out  to  hunt  for  the  children's  supper,  and 
her  keen  eyes  fell  on  the  white  Hen,  stupidly 
stalking  about  and  turning  up  its  eyes  in  a  wise 
way  each  time  a  harmless  Turkey-buzzard  came 
in  sight  against  a  huge  white  cloud. 

Tito  was  puzzled.  This  was  something  new. 
330 


Tito 

It  looked  like  game,  but  she  feared  to  take 
any  chances.  She  circled  all  around  without 
showing  herself,  then  decided  that,  whatever  it 
might  be,  it  was  better  let  alone.  As  she  passed 
on,  a  faint  whiff  of  smoke  caught  her  attention. 
She  followed  cautiously,  and  under  a  butte  far 
from  the  Hen  she  found  Jake's  camp.  His  bed 
was  there,  his  Horse  was  picketed,  and  on  the 
remains  of  the  fire  was  a  pot  which  gave  out  a 
smell  which  she  well  knew  about  men's  camps 
—  the  smell  of  coffee.  Tito  felt  uneasy  at  this 
proof  that  a  man  was  staying  so  near  her  home, 
but  she  went  off  quietly  on  her  hunt,  keeping 
out  of  sight,  and  Jake  knew  nothing  of  her 
visit. 

About  sundown  he  took  in  his  decoy  Hen,  as 
Owls  were  abundant,  and  went  back  to  his 
camp. 

XI 

NEXT  day  the  Hen  was  again  put  out,  and  late 
that  afternoon  Saddleback  came  trotting  by. 
As  soon  as  his  eye  fell  on  the  white  Hen  he 
stopped  short,  his  head  on  one  side,  and  gazed. 
Then  he  circled  to  get  the  wind,  and  went  cau- 
331 


Tito 

tiously  sneaking  nearer,  very  cautiously,  some- 
what puzzled,  till  he  got  a  whiff  that  reminded 
him  of  the  place  where  he  had  found  those 
Turkeys.  The  Hen  took  alarm,  and  tried  to 
run  away ;  but  Saddleback  made  a  rush,  seized 
the  Hen  so  fiercely  that  the  string  was  broken, 
and  away  he  dashed  toward  the  home  valley. 

Jake  had  fallen  asleep,  but  the  squawk  of  the 
Hen  happened  to  awaken  him,  and  he  sat  up  in 
time  to  see  her  borne  away  in  old  Saddleback's 
jaws. 

As  soon  as  they  were  out  of  sight  Jake  took 
up  the  white-feather  trail.  At  first  it  was  easily 
followed,  for  the  Hen  had  shed  plenty  of  plumes 
in  her  struggles ;  but  once  she  was  dead  in  Sad- 
dleback's jaws,  very  few  feathers  were  dropped 
except  where  she  was  carried  through  the  brush. 
But  Jake  was  following  quietly  and  certainly, 
for  Saddleback  had  gone  nearly  in  a  straight 
line  home  to  the  little  ones  with  the  dangerous 
telltale  prize.  Once  or  twice  there  was  a  puz- 
zling delay  when  the  Coyote  had  changed  his 
course  or  gone  over  an  open  place ;  but  one 
white  feather  was  good  for  fifty  yards,  and  when 
the  daylight  was  gone,  Jake  was  not  two  hun- 
332 


Tito 

dred  yards  from  the  hollow,  in  which  at  that 
very  moment  were  the  nine  little  pups,  having 
a  perfectly  delightful  time  with  the  Hen,  pull- 
ing it  to  pieces,  feasting  and  growling,  sneezing 
the  white  feathers  from  their  noses  or  coughing 
them  from  their  throats. 

If  a  puff  of  wind  had  now  blown  from  them 
toward  Jake,  it  might  have  carried  a  flurry  of 
snowy  plumes  or  even  the  merry  cries  of  the 
little  revellers,  and  the  den  would  have  been 
discovered  at  once.  But,  as  luck  would  have 
it,  the  evening  lull  was  on,  and  all  distant  sounds 
were  hidden  by  the  crashing  that  Jake  made  in 
trying  to  trace  his  feather  guides  through  the 
last  thicket. 

About  this  time  Tito  was  returning  home 
with  a  Magpie  that  she  had  captured  by  watch- 
ing till  it  went  to  feed  within  the  ribs  of  a 
dead  Horse,  when  she  ran  across  Jake's  trail. 
Now,  a  man  on  foot  is  always  a  suspicious  char- 
acter in  this  country.  She  followed  the  trail  for 
a  little  to  see  where  he  was  going,  and  that  she 
knew  at  once  from  the  scent.  How  it  tells  her 
no  one  can  say,  yet  all  hunters  know  that  it  does. 
And  Tito  marked  that  it  was  going  straight 
333 


Tito 


toward  her  home.  Thrilled  with  new  fear, 
she  hid  the  Bird  she  was  carrying,  then  followed 
the  trail  of  the  man.  Within  a  few  minutes  she 
could  hear  him  in  the  thicket,  and  Tito  realized 
the  terrible  danger  that  was  threatening.  She 
went  swiftly,  quietly  around  to  the  den  hollow, 
came  on  the  heedless  little  roisterers,  after  giv- 
ing the  signal-call,  which  prevented  them  taking 
alarm  at  her  approach ;  but  she  must  have  had 
a  shock  when  she  saw  how  marked  the  hollow 
and  the  den  were  now,  all  drifted  over  with 
feathers  white  as  snow.  Then  she  gave  the 
danger-call  that  sent  them  all  to  earth,  and  the 
little  glade  was  still. 

Her  own  nose  was  so  thoroughly  and  always 
her  guide  that  it  was  not  likely  she  thought  of 
the  white  feathers  being  the  telltale.  But  now 
she  realized  that  a  man,  one  she  knew  of  old  as 
a  treacherous  character,  one  whose  scent  had 
always  meant  mischief  to  her,  that  had  been 
associated  with  all  her  own  troubles  and  the 
cause  of  nearly  all  her  desperate  danger,  was 
close  to  her  darlings  ;  was  tracking  them  down  ; 
in  a  few  minutes  would  surely  have  them  in  his 
merciless  power. 

334 


Tito 

Oh,  the  wrench  to  the  mother's  heart  at  the 
thought  of  what  she  could  foresee!  But  the 
warmth  of  the  mother-love  lent  life  to  the 
mother-wit.  Having  sent  the  little  ones  out  of 
sight,  and  by  a  sign  conveyed  to  Saddleback 
her  alarm,  she  swiftly  came  back  to  the  man, 
then  she  crossed  before  him,  thinking,  in  her 
half-reasoning  way,  that  the  man  must  be  fol- 
lowing a  foot-scent  just  as  she  herself  would 
do,  but  would,  of  course,  take  the  stronger  line 
of  tracks  she  was  now  laying.  She  did  not 
realize  that  the  failing  daylight  made  any  dif- 
ference. Then  she  trotted  to  one  side,  and  to 
make  doubly  sure  of  being  followed,  she  uttered 
the  fiercest  challenge  she  could,  just  as  many  a 
time  she  had  done  to  make  the  Dogs  pursue 
her: 

Grrr-wow-wow-wa-a-a-a-h, 

and  stood  still ;  then  ran  a  little  nearer  and  did 
it  again,  and  then  again  much  nearer,  and  re- 
peated her  bark,  she  was  so  determined  that 
the  wolver  should  follow  her. 

Of  course  the  wolver  could  see  nothing  of 
the  Coyote,  for  the  shades  were  falling.     He 
335 


Tho 

had  to  give  up  the  hunt  anyway.  His  under- 
standing of  the  details  was  as  different  as  pos- 
sible from  that  the  Mother  Coyote  had,  and 
yet  it  came  to  the  same  thing.  He  recognized 
that  the  Coyote's  bark  was  the  voice  of  the  dis- 
tressed mother  trying  to  call  him  away.  So  he 
knew  the  brood  must  be  close  at  hand,  and  all 
he  now  had  to  do  was  return  in  the  morning  and 
complete  his  search.  So  he  made  his  way  back 
to  his  camp. 

XII 

SADDLEBACK  thought  they  had  won  the  victory. 
He  felt  secure,  because  the  foot-scent  that  he 
might  have  supposed  the  man  to  be  following 
would  be  stale  by  morning.  Tito  did  not  feel 
so  safe.  That  two-legged  beast  was  close  to 
her  home  and  her  little  ones ;  had  barely  been 
turned  aside ;  might  come  back  yet. 

The  wolver  watered  and  repicketed  his  Horse, 
kindled  the  fire  anew,  made  his  coffee  and  ate 
his  evening  meal,  then  smoked  awhile  before 
lying  down  to  sleep,  thinking  occasionally  of 
the  little  woolly  scalps  he  expected  to  gather  in 

the  morning- 


Tito 

He  was  about  to  roll  up  in  his  blanket  when, 
out  of  the  dark  distance,  there  sounded  the 
evening  cry  of  the  Coyote,  the  rolling  challenge 
of  more  than  one  voice.  Jake  grinned  in  fiend- 
ish glee,  and  said:  "There  you  are  all  right. 
Howl  some  more.  I'll  see  you  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

It  was  the  ordinary,  or  rather  one  of  the 
ordinary,  camp-calls  of  the  Coyote.  It  was 
sounded  once,  and  then  all  was  still.  Jake  soon 
forgot  it  in  his  loggish  slumber. 

The  callers  were  Tito  and  Saddleback.  The 
challenge  was  not  an  empty  bluff.  It  had  a 
distinct  purpose  behind  it — to  know  for  sure 
whether  the  enemy  had  any  dogs  with  him  ;  and 
because  there  was  no  responsive  bark  Tito  knew 
that  he  had  none. 

Then  Tito  waited  for  an  hour  or  so  till  the 
flickering  fire  had  gone  dead,  and  the  only 
sound  of  life  about  the  camp  was  the  cropping 
of  the  grass  by  the  picketed  Horse.  Tito  crept 
near  softly,  so  softly  that  the  Horse  did  not  see 
her  till  she  was  within  twenty  feet ;  then  he  gave 
a  start  that  swung  the  tightened  picket-rope  up 
'into  the  air,  and  snorted  gently.  Tito  went 
337 


Tito 

quietly  forward,  and  opening  her  wide  gape, 
took  the  rope  in,  almost  under  her  ears,  between 
the  great  scissor-like  back  teeth,  then  chewed 
it  for  a  few  seconds.  The  fibres  quickly  frayed, 
and,  aided  by  the  strain  the  nervous  Horse  still 
kept  up,  the  last  of  the  strands  gave  way,  and 
the  Horse  was  free.  He  was  not  much  alarmed  ; 
he  knew  the  smell  of  Coyote  ;  and  after  jumping 
three  steps  and  walking  six,  he  stopped. 

The  sounding  thumps  of  his  hoofs  on  the 
ground  awoke  the  sleeper.  He  looked  up,  but, 
seeing  the  Horse  standing  there,  he  went  calmly 
off  to  sleep  again,  supposing  that  all  went 
well. 

Tito  had  sneaked  away,  but  she  now  returned 
like  a  shadow,  avoided  the  sleeper,  but  came 
around,  sniffed  doubtfully  at  the  coffee,  and 
then  puzzled  over  a  tin  can,  while  Saddleback 
examined  the  frying-pan  full  of  "  camp-sinkers  " 
and  then  defiled  both  cakes  and  pan  with  dirt. 
The  bridle  hung  on  a  low  bush ;  the  Coyotes 
did  not  know  what  it  was,  but  just  for  luck  they 
cut  it  into  several  pieces,  then,  taking  the  sacks 
that  held  Jake's  bacon  and  flour,  they  carried 
them  far  away  and  buried  them  in  the  sand. 
338 


Tito 

Having  done  all  the  mischief  she  could,  Tito, 
followed  by  her  mate,  now  set  off  for  a  wooded 
gully  some  miles  away,  where  was  a  hole  that 
had  been  made  first  by  a  Chipmunk,  but  en- 
larged by  several  other  animals,  including  a  Fox 
that  had  tried  to  dig  out  its  occupants.  Tito 
stopped  and  looked  at  many  possible  places 
before  she  settled  on  this.  Then  she  set  to 
work  to  dig.  Saddleback  had  followed  in  a 
half-comprehending  way,  till  he  saw  what  she 
was  doing.  Then  when  she,  tired  with  dig- 
ging, came  out,  he  went  into  the  hole,  and  after 
snuffing  about  went  on  with  the  work,  throwing 
out  the  earth  between  his  hind  legs ;  and  when 
it  was  piled  up  behind  he  would  come  out  and 
push  it  yet  farther  away. 

And  so  they  worked  for  hours,  not  a  word 
said,  and  yet  with  a  sufficient  comprehension  of 
the  object  in  view  to  work  in  relief  of  each 
other.  And  by  the  time  the  morning  came 
they  had  a  den  big  enough  to  do  for  their  home, 
in  case  they  must  move,  though  it  would  not 
compare  with  the  one  in  the  grassy  hollow. 


339 


Tito 


XIII 

IT  was  nearly  sunrise  before  the  wolver  awoke. 
With  the  true  instinct  of  a  plainsman  he  turned 
to  look  for  the  Horse.  //  was  gone.  What  his 
ship  is  to  the  sailor,  what  wings  are  to  the  Bird, 
what  money  is  to  the  merchant,  the  Horse  is  to 
the  plainsman.  Without  it  he  is  helpless,  lost 
at  sea,  wing  broken,  crippled  in  business. 
Afoot  on  the  plains  is  the  sum  of  earthly  ter- 
rors. Even  Jake  realized  this,  and  ere  his 
foggy  wits  had  fully  felt  the  shock  he  sighted 
the  steed  afar  on  a  flat,  grazing  and  stepping 
ever  farther  from  the  camp.  At  a  second 
glance  Jake  noticed  that  the  Horse  was  trailing 
the  rope.  If  the  rope  had  been  left  behind 
Jake  would  have  known  that  it  was  hopeless  to 
try  to  catch  him ;  he  would  have  finished  his 
den-hunt  and  found  the  little  Coyotes.  But, 
with  the  trailing  rope,  there  was  a  good  chance 
of  catching  the  Horse ;  so  Jake  set  out  to  try. 
Of  all  maddening  things  there  is  nothing 
worse  than  to  be  almost,  but  not  quite,  able  to 
catch  your  Horse.  Do  what  he  might,  Jake 
could  not  get  quite  near  enough  to  seize  that 
340 


Tito 


short  rope,  and  the  Horse  led  him  on  and  on, 
until  at  last  they  were  well  on  the  homeward 
trail. 

Now  Jake  was  afoot  anyhow,  so  seeing  no 
better  plan,  he  set  out  to  follow  that  Horse 
right  back  to  the  Ranch. 

But  when  about  seven  miles  were  covered 
Jake  succeeded  in  catching  him.  He  rigged 
up  a  rough  jdquima  with  the  rope  and  rode 
barebacked  in  fifteen  minutes  over  the  three 
miles  that  lay  between  him  and  the  Sheep- 
ranch,  giving  vent  all  the  way  to  his  pent-up 
feelings  in  cruel  abuse  of  that  Horse.  Of 
course  it  did  not  do  any  good,  and  he  knew  that, 
but  he  considered  it  was  heaps  of  satisfaction. 

Here  Jake  got  a  meal  and  borrowed  a  sad- 
dle and  a  mongrel  Hound  that  could  run  a 
trail,  and  returned  late  in  the  afternoon  to  finish 
his  den-hunt.  Had  he  known  it,  he  now  could 
have  found  it  without  the  aid  of  the  cur,  for  it 
was  really  close  at  hand  when  he  took  up  the 
feather-trail  where  last  he  had  left  it.  Within 
one  hundred  yards  he  rose  to  the  top  of  the 
little  ridge ;  then  just  over  it,  almost  face  to 
face,  he  came  on  a  Coyote,  carrying  in  its 


THo 

mouth  a  large  Rabbit.  The  Coyote  leaped  just 
at  the  same  moment  that  Jake  fired  his  revolver, 
and  the  Dog  broke  into  a  fierce  yelling  and 
dashed  off  in  pursuit,  while  Jake  blazed  and 
blazed  away,  without  effect,  and  wondered  why 
the  Coyote  should  still  hang  on  to  that  Rabbit 
as  she  ran  for  her  life  with  the  Dog  yelling  at 
her  heels.  Jake  followed  as  far  as  he  could 
and  fired  at  each  chance,  but  scored  no  hit. 
So  when  they  had  vanished  among  the  buttes 
he  left  the  Dog  to  follow  or  come  back  as  he 
pleased,  while  he  returned  to  the  den,  which,  of 
course,  was  plain  enough  now.  Jake  knew  that 
the  pups  were  there  yet.  Had  he  not  seen  the 
mother  bringing  a  Rabbit  for  them? 

So  he  set  to  work  with  pick  and  shovel  all 
the  rest  of  that  day.  There  were  plenty  of 
signs  that  the  den  had  inhabitants,  and,  duly 
encouraged,  he  dug  on,  and  after  several  hours 
of  the  hardest  work  he  had  ever  done,  he  came 
to  the  end  of  the  den — only  to  find  it  empty. 
After  cursing  his  luck  at  the  first  shock  of  dis- 
gust, he  put  on  his  strong  leather  glove  and 
groped  about  in  the  nest.  He  felt  something 
firm  and  drew  it  out.  It  was  the  head  and 
342 


Tito 

neck  of  his  own  Turkey  Gobbler,  and  that  was 
all  he  got  for  his  pains. 

XIV 

TITO  had  not  been  idle  during  the  time  that 
the  enemy  was  Horse-hunting.  Whatever  Sad- 
dleback might  have  done,  Tito  would  live  in  no 
fool's  paradise.  Having  finished  the  new  den, 
she  trotted  back  to  the  little  valley  of  feathers, 
and  the  first  young  one  that  came  to  meet  her 
at  the  door  of  this  home  was  a  broad-headed 
one  much  like  herself.  She  seized  him  by  the 
neck  and  set  off,  carrying  him  across  country 
toward  the  new  den,  a  couple  of  miles  away. 
Every  little  while  she  had  to  put  her  offspring 
down  to  rest  and  give  it  a  chance  to  breathe. 
This  made  the  moving  slow,  and  the  labor  of 
transporting  the  pups  occupied  all  that  day,  for 
Saddleback  was  not  allowed  to  carry  any  of 
them,  probably  because  he  was  too  rough. 

Beginning  with  the  biggest  and  brightest, 

they  were  carried  away  one  at  a  time,  and  late 

in  the  afternoon  only  the  runt  was  left.     Tito 

had  not  only  worked  at  digging  all  night,  she 

343 


Ttto 


had  also  trotted  over  thirty  miles,  half  of  it  with 
a  heavy  baby  to  carry.  But  she  did  not  rest. 
She  was  just  coming  out  of  the  den,  carrying 
her  youngest  in  her  mouth,  when  over  the  very 
edge  of  this  hollow  appeared  the  mongrel 
Hound,  and  a  little  way  behind  him  Wolver  Jake. 

Away  went  Tito,  holding  the  baby  tight,  and 
away  went  the  Dog  behind  her. 

Bang !  bang !  bang!  said  the  revolver. 

But  not  a  shot  touched  her.  Then  over  the 
ridge  they  dashed,  where  the  revolver  could 
not  reach  her,  and  sped  across  a  flat,  the  tired 
Coyote  and  her  baby,  and  the  big  fierce  Hound 
behind  her,  bounding  his  hardest.  Had  she 
been  fresh  and  unweighted  she  could  soon  have 
left  the  clumsy  cur  that  now  was  barking  furi- 
ously on  her  track  and  rather  gaining  than 
losing  in  the  race.  But  she  put  forth  all  her 
strength,  careered  along  a  slope,  where  she 
gained  a  little,  then  down  across  a  brushy  flat 
where  the  cruel  bushes  robbed  her  of  all  she 
had  gained.  But  again  into  the  open  they 
came,  and  the  wolver,  laboring  far  behind,  got 
sight  of  them  and  fired  again  and  again  with 
his  revolver,  and  only  stirred  the  dust,  but  still 
344 


Tito's  Race  for  Life. 


Tito 

it  made  her  dodge  and  lose  time,  and  it  also 
spurred  the  Dog.  The  hunter  saw  the  Coyote, 
his  old  acquaintance  of  the  bobtail,  carrying 
still,  as  he  thought,  the  Jack-rabbit  she  had  been 
bringing  to  her  brood,  and  wondered  at  her 
strange  persistence.  "Why  doesn't  she  drop 
that  weight  when  flying  for  her  life?"  But  on 
she  went  and  gamely  bore  her  load  over  the 
hills,  the  man  cursing  his  luck  that  he  had  not 
brought  his  Horse,  and  the  mongrel  bounding  in 
deadly  earnest  but  thirty  feet  behind  her. 
Then  suddenly  in  front  of  Tito  yawned  a  little 
cut-bank  gully.  Tired  and  weighted,  she  dared 
not  try  the  leap ;  she  skirted  around.  But  the 
Dog  was  fresh ;  he  cleared  it  easily,  and  the 
mother's  start  was  cut  down  by  half.  But  on  she 
went,  straining  to  hold  the  little  one  high  above 
the  scratching  brush  and  the  dangerous  bay- 
onet-spikes ;  but  straining  too  much,  for  the 
helpless  cub  was  choking  in  his  mother's  grip. 
She  must  lay  him  down  or  strangle  him ;  with 
such  a  weight  she  could  not  much  longer  keep 
out  of  reach.  She  tried  to  give  the  howl  for 
help,  but  her  voice  was  muffled  by  the  cub, 
now  struggling  for  breath,  and  as  she  tried  to 
347 


Tho 

ease  her  grip  on  him  a  sudden  wrench  jerked 
him  from  her  mouth  into  the  grass — into  the 
power  of  the  merciless  Hound.  Tito  was  far 
smaller  than  the  Dog;  ordinarily  she  would 
have  held  him  in  fear;  but  her  little  one,  her 
baby,  was  the  only  thought  now,  and  as  the 
brute  sprang  forward  to  tear  it  in  his  wicked 
jaws,  she  leaped  between  and  stood  facing  him 
with  all  her  mane  erect,  her  teeth  exposed,  and 
plainly  showed  her  resolve  to  save  her  young 
one  at  any  price.  The  Dog  was  not  brave,  only 
confident  that  he  was  bigger  and  had  the  man 
behind  him.  But  the  man  was  far  away,  and 
balked  in  his  first  rush  at  the  trembling  little 
Coyote,  that  tried  to  hide  in  the  grass,  the  cur 
hesitated  a  moment,  and  Tito  howled  the  long 
howl  for  help — the  muster-call: 

Yap-yap-yap-yah-yah-yah-h-h-h-h 
Yap-yap-yap-yah-yah-yah-h-h-h-h, 

and  made  the  buttes  around  reecho  so  that 
Jake  could  not  tell  where  it  came  from;  but 
some  one  else  there  was  that  heard  and  did 
know  whence  it  came.  The  Dog's  courage 
revived  on  hearing  something  like  a  far-away 
348 


Tito 

shout.  Again  he  sprang  at  the  little  one,  but 
again  the  mother  balked  him  with  her  own 
body,  and  then  they  closed  in  deadly  struggle. 
"Oh,  if  Saddleback  would  only  come!  "  But  no 
one  came,  and  now  she  had  no  further  chance 
to  call.  Weight  is  everything  in  a  closing  fight, 
and  Tito  soon  went  down,  bravely  fighting  to 
the  last,  but  clearly  worsted ;  and  the  Hound's 
courage  grew  with  the  sight  of  victory,  and  all 
he  thought  of  now  was  to  finish  her  and  then 
kill  her  helpless  baby  in  its  turn.  He  had  no 
ears  or  eyes  for  any  other  thing,  till  out  of  the 
nearest  sage  there  flashed  a  streak  of  gray,  and 
in  a  trice  the  big-voiced  coward  was  hurled 
back  by  a  foe  almost  as  heavy  as  himself— 
hurled  back  with  a  crippled  shoulder.  Dash, 
chop,  and  stanch  old  Saddleback  sprang  on 
him  again.  Tito  struggled  to  her  feet,  and  they 
closed  on  him  together.  His  courage  fled  at 
once  when  he  saw  the  odds,  and  all  he  wanted 
now  was  safe  escape — escape  from  Saddleback, 
whose  speed  was  like  the  wind,  escape  from  Tito, 
whose  baby's  life  was  at  stake.  Not  twenty 
jumps  away  did  he  get ;  not  breath  enough  had 
he  to  howl  for  help  to  his  master  in  the  distant 
349 


Tito 

hills ;  not  fifteen  yards  away  from  her  little  one 
that  he  meant  to  tear,  they  tore  him  all  to  bits. 

And  Tito  lifted  the  rescued  young  one,  and 
travelling  as  slowly  as  she  wished,  they  reached 
the  new-made  den.  There  the  family  safely 
reunited,  far  away  from  danger  of  further  at- 
tack by  Wolver  Jake  or  his  kind. 

And  there  they  lived  in  peace  till  their  mother 
had  finished  their  training,  and  every  one  of 
them  grew  up  wise  in  the  ancient  learning  of 
the  plains,  wise  in  the  later  wisdom  that  the 
ranchers'  war  has  forced  upon  them,  and  not 
only  they,  but  their  children's  children,  too. 

THE  Buffalo  herds  have  gone;  they  have  suc- 
cumbed to  the  rifles  of  the  hunters.  The  Ante- 
tope  droves  are  nearly  gone ;  Hound  and  lead 
were  too  much  for  them.  The  Blacktail  bands 
have  dwindled  before  axe  and  fence.  The 
ancient  dwellers  of  the  Badlands  have  faded 
like  snow  under  the  new  conditions,  but  the 
Coyotes  are  no  more  in  fear  of  extinction. 
Their  morning  and  evening  song  still  sounds 
from  the  level  buttes,  as  it  did  long  years  ago 
when  every  plain  was  a  teeming  land  of  game. 
35° 


Tito 

They  have  learned  the  deadly  secrets  of  traps 
and  poisons,  they  know  how  to  baffle  the 
gunner  and  Hound,  they  have  matched  their 
wits  with  the  hunter's  wits.  They  have  learned 
how  to  prosper  in  a  land  of  man-made  plenty, 
in  spite  of  the  worst  that  man  can  do,  and  it 
was  Tito  that  taught  them  how. 


351 


r  s!f\  rf\  rfr\  rf\  ^^ 

*v*%v*vtt** 

nf\  ^y\  ^^i    /Wi  ^^ 


Why  the  Chickadee  Goes  Crazy 
Once  a  Year 

Published  September,  1893,  in  "Our  Animal  Friends," 
the  organ  of  the  American  Society  for  the  Prevention  of 
Cruelty  to  Animals 


Why  the  Chickadee  Goes  Crazy 
Once  a  Year 


LONG  time  ago,  when  there 
was  no  winter  in  the  north, 
the  Chickadees  lived  mer- 
rily in  the  woods  with  their 
relatives,  and  cared  for 
nothing  but  to  get  all  the 
pleasure  possible  out  of 
their  daily  life  in  the  thickets.  But  at  length 
Mother  Carey  sent  them  all  a  warning  that  they 
must  move  to  the  south,  for  hard  frost  and  snow 
were  coming  on  their  domains,  with  starvation 
close  behind. 

The   Nuthatches  and  other  cousins  of  the 
Chickadees  took  this  warning  seriously,  and  set 
about  learning  how  and  when  to  go ;  but  Tom- 
tit, who  led  his  brothers,  only  laughed   and 
355 


***    A  A 


Why  the  Chickadee  Goes  Crazy 

turned  a  dozen  wheels  around  a  twig  that 
served  him  for  a  trapeze. 

"  Go  to  the  south?  "  said  he.  "  Not  I ;  I 
am  too  well  contented  here ;  and  as  for  frost 
and  snow,  I  never  saw  any  and  have  no  faith 
in  them." 

But  the  Nuthatches  and  Kinglets  were  in 
such  a  state  of  bustle  that  at  length  the  Chicka- 
dees did  catch  a  little  of  the  excitement,  and 
left  off  play  for  a  while  to  question  their  friends ; 
and  they  were  not  pleased  with  what  they 
learned,  for  it  seemed  that  all  of  them  were  to 
make  a  journey  that  would  last  many  days,  and 
the  little  Kinglets  were  actually  going  as  far  as 
the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  Besides,  they  were  to 
fly  by  night  in  order  to  avoid  their  enemies  the 
Hawks,  and  the  weather  at  this  season  was  sure 
to  be  stormy.  So  the  Chickadees  said  it  was 
all  nonsense,  and  went  off  in  a  band,  singing 
and  chasing  one  another  through  the  woods. 

But  their  cousins  were  in  earnest.  They 
bustled  about  making  their  preparations,  and 
learned  beforehand  what  it  was  necessary  for 
them  to  know  about  the  way.  The  great  wide 
river  running  southward,  the  moon  at  height, 
356 


Why  the  Chickadee  Goes  Crazy 

and  the  trumpeting  of  the  Geese  were  to  be 
their  guides,  and  they  were  to  sing  as  they  flew 
in  the  darkness,  to  keep  from  being  scattered. 

The  noisy,  rollicking  Chickadees  were  noisier 
than  ever  as  the  preparations  went  on,  and 
made  sport  of  their  relatives,  who  were  now 
gathered  in  great  numbers  in  the  woods  along 
the  river ;  and  at  length,  when  the  proper  time 
of  the  moon  came,  the  cousins  arose  in  a  body 
and  flew  away  in  the  gloom.  The  Chickadees 
said  that  the  cousins  all  were  crazy,  made  some 
good  jokes  about  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  and  then 
dashed  away  in  a  game  of  tag  through  the 
woods,  which,  by  the  by,  seemed  rather  deserted 
now,  while  the  weather,  too,  was  certainly  turn- 
ing remarkably  cool. 

At  length  the  frost  and  snow  really  did  come, 
and  the  Chickadees  were  in  a  woful  case. 
Indeed,  they  were  frightened  out  of  their  wits, 
and  dashed  hither  and  thither,  seeking  in  vain 
for  some  one  to  set  them  aright  on  the  way  to 
the  south.  They  flew  wildly  about  the  woods, 
till  they  were  truly  crazy.  I  suppose  there  was 
not  a  Squirrel-hole  or  a  hollow  log  in  the  neigh- 
borhood that  some  Chickadee  did  not  enter  to 
357 


"Why  the  Chickadee  Goes  Crazy 

inquire  if  this  was  the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  But  no 
one  could  tell  anything  about  it,  no  one  was 
going  that  way,  and  the  great  river  was  hidden 
under  ice  and  snow. 

About  this  time  a  messenger  from  Mother 
Carey  was  passing  with  a  message  to  the  Cari- 
bou in  the  far  north ;  but  all  he  could  tell  the 
Chickadees  was  that  he  could  not  be  their  guide, 
as  he  had  no  instructions,  and,  at  any  rate,  he 
was  going  the  other  way.  Besides,  he  told 
them  they  had  had  the  same  notice  as  their 
cousins  whom  they  had  called  "  crazy  " ;  and 
from  what  he  knew  of  Mother  Carey,  they 
would  probably  have  to  brave  it  out  here  all 
through  the  snow,  not  only  now,  but  in  all  fol- 
lowing winters ;  so  they  might  as  well  make  the 
best  of  it. 

This  was  sad  news  for  the  Tomtits ;  but  they 
were  brave  little  fellows,  and  seeing  they  could 
not  help  themselves,  they  set  about  making  the 
best  of  it.  Before  a  week  had  gone  by  they 
were  in  their  usual  good  spirits  again,  scram- 
bling about  the  twigs  or  chasing  one  another  as 
before.  They  had  still  the  assurance  that  win- 
ter would  end.  So  filled  were  they  with  this 
358 


Why  the  Chickadee  Goes  Crazy 

fdea  that  even  at  its  commencement,  when  a 
fresh  blizzard  came  on,  they  would  gleefully 
remark  to  one  another  that  it  was  a  "  sign  of 
spring,"  and  one  or  another  of  the  band  would 
lift  his  voice  in  the  sweet  little  chant  that  we  all 
know  so  well : 

n 


"Spring     Soon, 

another  would  take  it  up  and  reecho : 


Com-  ing 

and  they  would  answer  and  repeat  the  song 
until  the  dreary  woods  rang  again  with  the  good 
news,  and  people  learned  to  love  the  brave  little 
Bird  that  sets  his  face  so  cheerfully  to  meet  so 
hard  a  case. 

But  to  this  day,  when  the  chill  wind  blows 
through  the  deserted  woods,  the  Chickadees 
seem  to  lose  their  wits  for  a  few  days,  and  dart 
into  all  sorts  of  odd  and  dangerous  places.  They 
may  then  be  found  in  great  cities,  or  open  prairies, 
359 


Why  the  Chickadee  Goes  Crazy 

cellars,  chimneys,  and  hollow  logs ;  and  the  next 
time  you  find  one  of  the  wanderers  in  any  such 
place,  be  sure  to  remember  that  Tomtit  goes 
crazy  once  a  year,  and  probably  went  into  his 
strange  retreat  in  search  of  the  Gulf  of  Mexico. 


30° 


^ 


DATE  DUE 


PP  -      196S 


Jf,II 


3  72 


RECD  DEC 


1971 


173 


KECD  Jl  N  i  2  1973 


PBINTEDINU.S. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REG/OWai 

*      000  001  575   o 


